


All the King's Horses

by xenascully



Category: NCIS
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 49,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenascully/pseuds/xenascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their fearless leader goes missing, Gibbs' team battles to find him before his time runs out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where's Gibbs?

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo stealthily exited the elevator and made it to his desk, all the while being observed by a slightly amused Special Agent McGee.

"Good morning, Tony," the younger agent greeting with a slight smirk. "You're late," he pointed out, thought it was obvious that the senior field agent was already aware.

"By five minutes, Probie. Don't start with me; I've had an incredibly craptastic morning. Where's Gibbs?" he asked as he tucked his backpack beside his desk and sank into his chair to boot his computer. "MTAC?"

"No, I haven't seen him this morning," McGee replied. "Craptastic? What's the matter; coyote ugly experience?" he grinned.

"Coyote ugly would still be more action than you're getting, McMakingitworse. But no, that's not got anything to do with it. And what do ya mean, 'you haven't seen him'? His car's in the lot."

Tim furrowed his brow, "Well, I've been here for over an hour, and he hasn't been down here or in Abby's lab..."

"Did you try his cell?"

"I don't really have a reason to bother him just yet... Why are you so eager to find him? This is your perfect opportunity to get away with being late."

"As if a silly thing like him not seeing me come in is gonna mean he doesn't know," he scoffed. At that moment, the elevator dinged again and out stepped Ziva David, looking disheveled and rushed as she hurried to her desk. "Good to see I'm at least not the latest one in today," he smirked.

"Sorry," she proclaimed as she situated herself at her desk. "I did not anticipate being attacked by a dog on my morning run."

"Oh my god, Ziva, are you okay?" McGee asked as he stood and walked to her desk with concern written all over his face.

"I am fine, McGee," she said, glancing up at him from her seat, and then to Tony, who had also gotten up and approached her desk to appraise her. "The dog, however, is not so lucky."

"What'd you do to the dog?" Tony asked.

"Oh god...whatever it is, don't let it get back to Abby," McGee warned.

"Let what get back to me?" Abby Sciuto bounced into the bullpen.

"Uh...nothing, Abby," Ziva smiled. "What can we do for you?" she asked, quickly changing the subject as the other two agents retreated back to their desks.

"I'm looking for Gibbs. He was supposed to come down to my lab... Well, not supposed to, but he usually does, by now. Unless you're really busy with a case and you're not waiting on anything from me. Which is pretty rare, honestly... Not- not that you're never busy with a case! But that you wouldn't need me for something while being also busy with a case-"

"Abby!" Tony hushed her rambling.

"Sorry... But anyway, yeah. Gibbs always comes to see me by now... It's just a little strange, is all."

"You sure he's not up in MTAC or with Vance?" Tony asked Tim.

"Pretty sure," McGee replied. "Nothing was scheduled in MTAC, and Vance was down here looking for him, too."

Tony's gut began to churn. He walked to Gibbs' desk and quickly surveyed the area. "He hasn't been here," he concluded. "No empty coffee cups in the trash. Desk hasn't been touched since last night."

"How can you tell that?" Tim asked.

"Because I'm observant," he retorted. "Part of my job," he glared for a moment. Tim dropped his gaze; a bit ashamed he hadn't figured that much out. "His car is in the same spot it was yesterday. Did he not go home?"

"He said he was heading home around 1900 hours," Abby told them. "He stopped by the lab to say goodnight. Had his pack and everything."

"That's it; I'm calling him," Tony went back to his desk and picked up his phone, punching in Gibbs' cell. After a moment, he met the eyes of his teammates, "Goes straight to voice mail."

"No one is answering at his house," Ziva told them as she hung up her own phone.

"Gibbs never turns off his phone," Abby said, worriedly, "Except on his anniversaries, and today's definitely not one of those days..."

"McGoo, can you get into the security feed?" Tony's heart was racing in his chest, now. "1900 hours is the last he was seen; Abby's lab. Start with the elevator on that floor."

Black and white footage appeared on Tim's computer screen and Tony leaned on the desk, one hand on its edge, and the other on the back of McGee's chair, watching intently. Ziva and Abby stood behind them to observe.

Sure enough, Gibbs came walking on camera toward the elevator. There was a cup of coffee in his hand that he'd gotten in the break room, Tony noticed. He punched the button for the elevator with his free hand, then adjusted the pack on his shoulder as he waited. Once he entered the elevator, McGee went to switch camera shots, and Gibbs could be seen taking a long sip from his cup before the doors closed and the camera switched over.

"Here's the ground floor," Tim verified as the picture came up. The elevator opened and Gibbs came strolling out. He stopped for a moment, looking around, then finished his coffee and threw the cup into the trashcan beside the elevator doors.

Tony narrowed his eyes as Gibbs wiped a hand down his face and yawned, shaking his head as if trying to wake himself up.

"It was a long day," Ziva commented.

"Mmhm," Tony replied, shortly. Once Gibbs walked off camera, Tim changed the view again, taking it from a camera in the parking lot. They watched Gibbs come out the door and head toward the lot. He seemed to trip over his own foot, and regained his balance for a moment before leaning on the trunk of a nearby car.

"What's wrong with him?" McGee asked.

"That is more than just tired," Ziva agreed.

They watched in horror as Gibbs collapsed to the ground. And suddenly, from out of the camera's view, a masked man appeared and casually picked up the unconscious lead agent, and carried him away.

"Other cams, McGee," Tony pressed as he studied the screen intently.

"Other cams were down for maintenance last night between 1800 and 2100 hours," Tim reported, reluctantly.

Tony stood and ran a nervous hand through his hair, gripping it in the back out of frustration. His colleagues stood just as afraid as he. Speechless from the truth they'd just witnessed...

...Gibbs had been kidnapped...


	2. In the Dark

"See if you can trace his phone," he ordered Tim. "Ziva, see if you can't find the coffee cup he tossed out there. Abby, the...break room," he ordered. "He got his coffee there; see if you can't find traces of any type of drug. I know they clean all of that up every night. But there might be a chance for something. I'm gonna go talk to Vance..."

As if all run by some sort of remote mechanical device, they set off on their missions, each setting aside their personal fear. Tony took the stairs two at a time up to Vance's office.

"It's an emergency," he muttered to the secretary before letting himself in this door, in a very Gibbs-like fashion.

"Agent DiNozzo," Vance narrowed his eyes, "I know you didn't just-"

"Gibbs was kidnapped," Tony interrupted. Vance's eyes grew wide. "Right out of the parking lot, last night, a little after 1900 hours."

"Taken from right outside NCIS? And no one noticed anything?"

"If they had, I'm sure we would've heard something about it before now," Tony replied with very strong effort to not come across as sarcasm. "We think he was drugged," he continued. "Security cameras show him passing out, and a masked-man picking him up and walking away. But we're not sure how he left; other lot cams were down for maintenance."

"Sounds convenient," Vance said. "Have Agent McGee look into what type of maintenance and why. Whoever scheduled it should be questioned."

"I have him doing a trace on Gibbs' cell. But if it's possible to find him that way, he'd have called to tell me by now. I need to know who was working the gate last night. If no one saw Gibbs taken, then chances are that they'll recall who left the Yard at that time."

"Get on it, DiNozzo," he replied with a nod. "I'll get the name for you. In the meantime, we have to take into consideration that they might not have left the Yard at all."

Tony narrowed his eyes, "You think they could still be here?"

"It's a possibility. I'm gonna lock it down so we can do an extensive search."

"But if he's not here, we need to be out there looking," Tony argued.

"You find some kind of evidence that leads you to believe you have some idea of where he might be, then we'll talk about that. Right now, you haven't even got a clue. I suggest you start looking. But if this becomes to much for your team, Agent DiNozzo, you need to tell me. I can put another one on it."

"There's no way we're not investigating this, Director," he argued. "We're more than capable."

"I don't doubt that," Vance replied. "But you know, very well, the grim possibility that we might not find him alive; that he may already be dead."

"He's not," Tony said with conviction, before turning to exit the office.

Vance didn't stop him, though he hadn't been dismissed.

11 00 11 00 11

Unknown location...

Dark.

Everything was dark. And cold. So cold, parts of him ached.

As he tried to recall where he might be, he forced himself up off of the...ground or floor or whatever he might have been on, and began to feel around for something; anything. It wasn't long before coming into contact with what was seemingly a wall. The wall was just as cold, if not colder than he already felt. He ran his hand along the wall as he cautiously walked the short length of it.

The corner met another, shorter wall before bringing him to another. Eventually, it led him to what seemed to be a set of doors. He used all of his body weight in attempt to open them, but they didn't budge.

"Hello-" he coughed against the soreness of his throat. He could taste the remnants of coffee, which reminded him that he hadn't simply gone home, gotten drunk, and locked himself in...some strange, cold building. No. He'd...had coffee. He'd left NCIS, or had been on his way to do so, and he'd suddenly become ridiculously dizzy. The rest was a blank.

He banged on the door and attempted to call out again, "Hello? Anyone out there?" He stopped banging, just long enough to listen for a response. None came. He called out again, this time as he searched the pockets of his coat and pants. In his right pocket, he discovered a phone. He opened it, but immediately realized that this wasn't his phone. The display instructed him to press speed-dial one.

His heart sped up a bit as his gut told him the truth... he'd been kidnapped...


	3. On Ice

"The cup Ziva recovered from the trash can still had a little of the coffee left in the bottom," Abby told Tony as he stood nervously on one side of the table in her lab. "It was definitely spiked with Flunitrazepam."

"Rufies..."

"Yeah," she nodded, sadly. "Enough to take down our mighty Gibbs. The concentration in what little was left, suggests there was probably enough to keep him out a good several hours."

"Prints?"

"Haven't found any on the cup, other than his," she told him. "The coffee maker, itself, had several. But they all belong to staff. Whoever did this wore gloves."

"And knew that Gibbs would be the only one drinking coffee last night. Whoever they were, they were here after we all left. The coffee had to have been brewed afterward. I had a cup, and I was here for an hour after I was finished with it," he told her.

"Are we certain it wasn't a staff member who drugged the coffee?" Ducky asked as he entered the lab.

Tony turned his head to look at the M.E, "I was here until it was only Gibbs and me left in the building."

"That, and I checked the list," Abby chimed in. "Every person's set of prints I lifted, left hours before Gibbs did. This coffee was sitting there in the pot. Someone stirred it in once they were sure he was the only one left to drink it."

"And what of the guard at the gate?" Ducky asked.

"Waiting on him to show up," Tony told him.

"Tony," McGee called out as he quickly entered the lab, "Police found a body less than a mile from here, ditched on the side of the road. He was covered by brush, but once traffic picked up, the body was revealed."

"What's this got to do with Gibbs?" Tony narrowed his eyes.

"The man was the driver of a vending company truck; specifically a refrigerated one...and more specifically, the same vending truck that made a delivery here to NCIS last night," he went to Abby's computer and typed onto the keyboard until a video-feed pulled up on the screen. "This is him entering at 1847," he told them, then typed a few more keys. "And leaving...1908," he turned his eyes to Tony's.

"Whoever took Gibbs, heisted the truck," Tony surmised. "No wonder he got out of here virtually undetected... Did you-"

"Put a BOLO out on the truck? Yes," McGee answered. "And I tried to find an angle that'd show us the driver's face, but there's nothing."

"Have the PD send the body here to Ducky," Tony told him. "It might give us some clue as to who took Gibbs."

"I'll prepare," Ducky stated as he moved to leave the room as McGee did to follow Tony's order.

"Abs, I need you to get every detail about that truck you can possibly conjure," Tony instructed. "I wanna know how much gas was in it when it left the warehouse before coming here; how far they could get without stopping; what the internal temperature of the refrigeration unit can get to..." his voice trailed off as the worry became for evident in his eyes.

Abby noticed the look and turned to him, shoving aside her own fear for a moment. She took his shoulders in soft-placed hands and looked him in the eyes, "I'll do all of that, and everything else that falls under that umbrella that we really don't even wanna begin to think about, Tony," she told him softly. "And we'll find him. I know we will," her hopeful eyes seemed to bring him back under control of his own worry.

"I'll send Ziva down to help you," he told her as he gave her a quick hug. "Thanks, Abby." He pulled away as his cell rang. He fished it out of his pocket, "DiNozzo," he answered.

"Rodney is here," Ziva's voice rang from the other line.

"I'll be right up," he told her, then ended the call. "Gate guard just got here," he told Abby before turning to hurry out of the lab.

He decidedly avoided the elevator and opted for the stairs. Waiting wasn't an option in his book, at the moment. Record time found him up in the bullpen where Rodney sat at Tony's desk, fiddling with the small television behind it. Tony glanced at Ziva, "I need you to help Abby . She's expecting you."

Ziva nodded, without question, only appraising him for a moment before turning to go down to Abby's lab. She was worried about Gibbs, like the rest of them were. Gibbs was like a father to her. But she was concerned for Tony as well. To Tony, Gibbs was more than a father figure. Tony worshiped the ground he walked on. Gibbs was his hero, essentially. Not knowing who had him; where he was; what was happening to him, had to be killing Tony. Perhaps even more than it was hurting her.

Still, he was doing his job, and he was doing it to the best of his ability. His gut had told him something was wrong. He'd followed it. Who knows how long it might have been before they'd discovered Gibbs was missing, if Tony hadn't noticed when he did.

Yes, for that much, Ziva was impressed. Gibbs would be proud. She could only hope that they'd find him in time to verify that fact...


	4. Bait n' Mustard

Gibbs had hesitated to dial the number instructed on the phone. It wouldn't allow him to call any other number, to his dismay. So, he was faced with the only other option; he pressed the speed dial and placed the phone to his ear.

"Agent Gibbs," a disguised voice rang on the other line. "So nice of you to finally get with the program. I've been waiting for your call."

"Yeah. Well, whatever you gave me, I was out till a few minutes ago. Where am I?" Gibbs asked, not really wanting to chit chat with whomever his captor was.

"No curiosity as to who I am?" the man asked.

"The thought crossed my mind," Gibbs told him. "But I'm a little more interested to know why I'm...here."

"I'm sure you have some kind of idea where you are. You're an investigator, after all. As for why, that's not very important, at the moment."

"The hell it's not!" Gibbs called out, irritated.

"Really now, Gibbs," the man scolded, calmly. "Most people in your position would talk to me with a little...respect. Even if it's only because they fear for their life."

"You wanna kill me, then come in here and try it," Gibbs taunted.

"I don't need to set foot in there, to kill you," he replied. "You think it's a bit cold in there now? For every hour it takes your pathetic team to finally find you, the temperature will drop a full degree. I was pretty generous to give them until this morning, to realize you were gone, to start the timer. I'd say they have until dinner time before it's nearly unbearable. Then, possibly nightfall until it gets to the point that it becomes life-threatening..."

"Is this some kind of sick test? To calculate the efficiency of my team?"

For a few moments, all that could be heard was the other man's laughter, which was decidedly creepy while disguised by the mechanical device he was using on the phone. "Ah, Agent Gibbs...I must thank you for that. I haven't laughed in a long while." Gibbs narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Your absence guarantees exactly what I wish to accomplish here. Their 'efficiency' doesn't matter. Whether they're successful in finding you in time or not, the one I'm really aiming to draw here, will come."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"And when he does," he continued as if Gibbs had never spoken, "You won't be able to save him..."

11 00 11 00 11

"C'mon, Rodney," Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "You're not givin' me much, here."

"I'm sorry, Tony," Rodney defended. "It was dark."

"Do you know how many mid-forty Caucasian men with short brown hair there are in the Annapolis area?"

"Yeah, I do! And I'm sorry I don't have much else for you! I really am! If I'd known I needed to get a good look at, who I thought was, the food-service guy, I would have. But he didn't look suspicious at all."

Tony took a breath through his nose and sank down into the chair at the end of the table. He was grateful they were in the conference room where he couldn't really be observed, as he wiped both hands down the front of his face, leaving them there a bit as he tried to compose himself.

Rodney felt bad. He knew how much Gibbs meant to the team; Tony especially, even if it was never said out loud. Some things didn't get past him. Well...at the moment, he wished a few things hadn't, anyway. By the looks of the agent in front of him, Tony had probably been counting on this information. He was about to apologize again, when Tony suddenly straightened and dropped his hands to the table in front of him.

"He didn't look suspicious?" Tony asked him.

Rodney narrowed his eyes, "No, he didn't. He was wearin' a uniform. Same one he came in with...well, same one the actual guy came in with, anyway."

"How do you know it was the same one?"

"Guy spilled mustard on the front of his shirt. That's one thing I do remember about people that come through. Guy that came in was a little huskier. I just figured I hadn't gotten a very good look at him, seein' as his shirt had that same stain and all..."

Tony hurriedly flipped open a file folder that was on the table in front of him and skimmed through a few pages until he came to the crime scene photo of the vending personnel victim. Sure enough, his shirt had the mustard stain.

"That's not the guy who left out," Rodney said, glancing at the picture. "But that's the shirt... What's that even mean?"

"That means you might've just helped us to find my boss, Rodney," Tony flipped the folder closed as he stood, laid a hand on Rodney's shoulder and gave it a thankful squeeze before quickly heading out of the conference room...


	5. Statistical Possibilities

"I don't understand," Gibbs said into the phone as he paced the dark enclosure. "Why go through the trouble of kidnapping me, if I'm not even the one you're after?"

"Like I said," the captor explained, "With you out of the way, once I have him, there's no one who will be able to save him."

"I don't think you're giving my team enough credit."

"The remaining, once I have him, are next to useless, Gibbs. You were my major obstacle. I had to eliminate it. But if I'd outright killed you, there was no guarantee I'd be able to get him. But this way, he'll come to me."

"You planned on taking him, first," Gibbs surmised. "Not just killing him."

"That's right. Killing him isn't good enough. He needs to suffer first. I need time. And with you on my trail, I wouldn't have had enough. Those imbeciles won't be able to track me down in time; I'll have finished before they find his cold, dead corpse. And by then, I'll be long gone."

Gibbs' gut churned. This guy meant business; sick, twisted business. And right now, there was nothing he could do. There was no way to warn his team away from this trap, and even if he could, it'd surely mean his own death. But he'd do it in a heartbeat, to save them. "Why?" he asked. "What'd he do? He arrest you or something? Send you to prison? I assume you're talkin' about DiNozzo," he surmised.

"You assume correctly, not that that information helps you in any way. But no, Gibbs; I wasn't arrested. This isn't about me."

"Sure seems personal, to me," Gibbs retorted.

"It struck home," he replied. "You could say that much." There was a long moment of silence, and Gibbs attempted to figure out a way to open the doors. "Yes...I intend to make him feel as I did. Then...and only then...he'll be let off the hook."

"Thought you said you were gonna kill him," Gibbs inquired.

"Exactly. He'll be let off the hook of having to live with the pain. I've lived with it, Agent Gibbs, for so long. So long, I can't even remember when I didn't feel this way. So yes, he'll be spared that much time. But I'll make up for it. After he suffers emotionally, I'll make him suffer physically, in place of the amount of time he can't live with the pain. And then I'll end it..."

11 00 11 00 11

"What do you got for me?" Tony asked as he entered the lab, where Abby, Tim and Ziva were hard at work.

Ziva turned to him, first, "I spoke to the food service company where the refrigeration truck came from. It has the capability to get an internal temperature between 0 and 40 degrees Fahrenheit," she told him.

McGee spoke next, picking up immediately where she left off, "They also said they have a GPS locator on all of their vehicles. But this one was manually disabled right around the location where the driver's body was found. All that tells us is that they were headed East. But he could've driven in that direction to throw us off."

"The manager informed us that NCIS was that driver's last drop-off for the night," Ziva chimed in. "What they brought us did not require extreme refrigeration. The truck, theoretically, was set at 40 degrees. It's possible...likely, even, that the kidnapper was not concerned with the temperature."

"It's also likely that that's exactly what he was concerned about," Abby's voice drew their attention to the forensic goth that was hard at work on her computer. "I mean, assuming he's holding Gibbs in that thing still, the dimensions, alone, in that air-tight space, allows for approximately forty-eight hours before carbon-dioxide poisoning kills him," she began pacing in front of the computer, nervously. "A-and he's been in there for over thirteen hours already... That's thirty-five hours. Not to mention, if it's cold in there, he'll be moving around to keep his body temperature up. That'll cut into his time...like...a lot. It could cut his time in half. That's assuming the temperature doesn't get below his tolerance level... If that...if that's already happened...oh god... We could already be to late," she stopped and met Tony's eyes with watery ones. "He could already be dead, Tony..."

"Abs, calm down," he told her, then drew her into his arms. "Gibbs isn't dead."

"H-how could you know that?" she asked in nearly a whisper.

"I just do," he told her without hesitation. "I'd know it. I'd feel it in my gut," he told her, quietly, then turned his head to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to her temple. "I need you on this, Abby," he said as he gently pulled away. "Can you handle this?"

"Of course I can," she defended.

He gave her a small, proud smile, "That's my girl. Let me know as soon as you find something off that uniform." He turned to face his teammates, "McGee, Ziva, go see if Ducky's got anything more from the body. I'll meet you down there in five." He turned and stalked out the door without another word.

Tim and Ziva shared a glance, then looked over at Abby, whom once she'd met their eyes, turned to face her computer again as she dove back into her work. The agents headed out of the lab to follow their orders...

*~.~*

Tony had high-tailed it to the head and threw on the cold water in the sink, splashing it over his face in effort to ebb the impending nausea. He'd done his best to hold in his own fears when Abby had gone off, rambling about the statistical possibilities of Gibbs' situation. He couldn't help the mental image of his boss curled in the corner of that truck, gasping for air; the skin of his face, pale and iced over from the cold.

Tony heaved over the sink basin, though nothing came up. He forced himself to get his breathing under control. They didn't have time for this.

One last splash of water, and he turned off the sink and reached for a paper towel. Glancing at his reflection once he dried off his face and threw the paper in the trash, he took a long breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to head out of the bathroom to meet his colleagues in the morgue...


	6. Only Source of Light

"Ah, Anthony," Ducky greeted as the senior field agent entered the morgue. "As I was just telling Timothy and Ziva, this man died as a result of a broken neck."

Tony approached the edge of the cold table across from his teammates. "No other damage?"

"Nothing that I've discovered thus far," the older man replied. "His attacker most likely approached him, quietly, from behind; probably while he was standing at the back of the open truck doors. He grabbed him," Ducky demonstrated by taking hold of McGee from behind and placing his arms in a position where he was holding his head, "And twisted his head, like so." McGee's face paled as the doctor jerked his head. "Death would have been instantaneous."

"He was strong," Ziva commented.

"Most definitely," Ducky said as he let go of a slightly flustered Agent McGee. "And a bit taller than our victim, I would say," he added. "Once he snapped his neck, he likely threw him in the back of the truck with Jethro..." The M.E lowered his head for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned and looked up at Tony. "Has Abigail come across anything usable from the uniform? Anything at all to ID the captor?"

"If she had, she'd have told me by now, Ducky," Tony told him.

Something flashed in Ducky's eyes then, though no one saw it. It was a flash of recognition in the expression in Tony's eyes. He set aside his own fears for the moment, slightly worried for the man standing before him. Tony was looking in his direction, but he was far from actually seeing Ducky.

"Uh...perhaps," Ducky turned to look at the other two agents, "Ziva and Timothy, you could continue to assist Abigail? I would like to have a word with Anthony, just for a moment."

Tony narrowed his eyes, now focusing on Ducky. He turned his head to glance at his teammates, who seemed to be waiting for his approval. Momentarily confused about what Ducky needed to talk about, he nodded to them. Once they vacated the morgue, Tony turned to Ducky again.

"What do you need?" he asked.

"Only to see how you're doing," Ducky said, calmly.

Tony tilted his head for a moment. "Well, let's see, Ducky... Gibbs is in the hands of a killer, either still inside that truck or who knows. We've got no idea why he's been taken or what the guy wants. Hell, we don't even know that his body hasn't already been dumped somewhere! There's been no demands; no note or call...and right now, we're no closer to finding him than we were to begin with. So I guess I'm doing pretty bad, Doc."

Ducky looked at him for a moment. Then, finally, he spoke, "Good."

"Good?" he asked, incredulously.

"As long as you aren't fooling yourself, then I don't see a problem." He held eye contact with the younger man until Tony realized what he was telling him.

He calmed in his demeanor, "How about you?"

"I'm worried," he admitted. "But confident that you'll be able to find him."

Tony searched the M.E's eyes for a moment, finding no deception there. He took a breath through his nose, nodded to him in appreciation, then turned to leave...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs paced the small space as he tried, unsuccessfully to figure out how to make the phone work for him to make a call to someone other than his captor. The cold was nerve-wracking, but bearable at the moment.

As much as he'd messed with the doors to what he now knew was the back of a truck, there was no foreseeable way in which to open them from the inside. And there was nothing in the truck with him that he could try and pry them open, or smash his way out with.

The problem wasn't that he was concerned about being found. He had every bit of confidence that they'd get to him. It was more about the fact that being found meant that Tony would be put in eminent danger. Hell, he could be killed... How the hell would he be able to live with himself then?

He needed to call them; tell them to leave him behind. Or at least warn them of what was waiting for them, before they got there and it was too late.

Really, he wanted to break something. The only 'something' he had, was the phone. And as willing as he might be to destroy the damned thing, he needed the possibility...albeit a distant one...that maybe Abby or McGee could find him with it. Chances that there was something still in the phone that could be traced, were slim. After all, the guy had gone to great lengths to get this far. It was doubtful he'd messed up on something so trivial. Still, there was a small possibility. And if he had messed up, they'd find it.

It was all he could hope for; that slim chance that they might be able to contact him somehow. That slim chance was the only thing keeping him from crushing that stupid little piece of equipment. That, and there was this slight bit of warmth that it held as it was clutched in his fist. And the only source of light, of course. Yeah, probably best that he didn't throw it across the room...


	7. Back Step

Tony leaned against the back wall of the elevator, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor ahead of him. His phone suddenly went off in his pocket and he fished it out. "DiNozzo," he answered.

"Tony, Abby's got a hit," McGee's voice sounded on the other end.

"On my way," Tony replied, then ended the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket before going to press the appropriate button to take him to Abby's floor. It was then that he realized he hadn't hit any button until that point...

*~.~*

"It was a long-shot," Abby explained as Tony came into the lab, "But I ran a hair I found on the inside of the collar of the shirt. It could've belonged to the driver we have in the morgue, but it turns out it's not his." She typed into the computer and brought up an image on the screen. "Meet William McWithey," she read. "Twenty-five years old, a hundred and eighty pounds. Six-one; born and raised in Blackburn, Missouri."

Tony squinted at the screen, and McGee took over with information he'd been able to pull up on his phone, "Five years ago he was nabbed for a B & E. He was processed, got out on bail, and dropped off the radar."

"McWithey..." Tony mused. "Why does that name sound so familiar?" McGee furrowed his brow and began typing something into his phone. "So, no known address since dropping off the radar?"

"Nothin'," Abby told him. "No vehicles registered in his name. No license. This one is five years old," the corner of her mouth turned down in frustration.

"Uh...Tony?" Tim glanced up from his phone with a slightly worried look on his face. Tony looked at him. "William McWithey, son of Andrew M. McWithey... ring a bell?"

"Andy..." a memory flashed in Tony's mind at the mention of the name.

"October 2001, you shot him before he could take out anymore hostages during a bank robbery. He died later that day from his injury," Tim elaborated.

"That's right before you came to NCIS, just about," Abby commented.

"Yeah, I remember," Tony replied, turning back to the screen. "That would've made Billy, here, about 15."

"Do you think he's...somehow trying to exact revenge?" Tim asked. "Or is this just a coincidence?"

"You know how Gibbs feels about coincidences, McGoo," Tony said in a low voice.

"If this is about you," Abby chimed in, "Then he's trying to draw you to him; into a trap. Gibbs may not really be in any immediate danger..."

"Or Gibbs is the revenge," Tony said in almost a whisper. His mind was in a thousand places. How could this be happening? How could this kid possibly know all the things he knew? That he thought of Gibbs as a father, instead of going after his actual dad...

"Is Ziva still in the bathroom?" Tim's voice pulled Tony from his thoughts.

"She has been gone pretty long," Abby replied.

"I'll go see if she's okay," McGee said before heading out of the lab.

"What's wrong with Ziva?" Tony looked to Abby.

"She said she had a headache and was gonna use the bathroom. That was like ten minutes ago."

"Ziva has a headache? I don't think I've ever seen her admit to feeling sick before..."

"Guys!" McGee came running back into the lab, looking flushed. "Something's wrong! I think Ziva needs a doctor..." he turned back immediately, and the other two followed as McGee pulled out his phone to dial for Ducky.

Tony pushed past him to get to the bathroom and let himself in. "Zi?" he called out and approached the locked stall. "You okay?" There was a groan on the other side and he crouched down to look under the opening. Ziva was curled up on the floor, her face pale and sweaty; hair disheveled and sticking to the sides of her face.

He stood, abruptly, and with seemingly minimal effort, he kicked the stall door open and immediately sunk down beside his partner, "Ziva, Ducky's on his way up. What happened?" he brushed her hair from her temple, behind her ear.

She shook her head and groaned again, suddenly pushing herself up from the floor to, what was most likely her original stance, kneeling in front of the toilet, and began, or rather continued, vomiting. He held her hair back and glanced out of the stall at his colleagues with a worried, yet nauseated look on his face.

"Ducky's on his way up," Tim told him.

Tony nodded and looked down, catching a glimpse of the torn leg of Ziva's pants on the calf. He pulled up the pant leg which revealed a bandage. "Is this where the dog got ya?" he asked. Ziva nodded, mutely, as her body shook from the exertion. Carefully, Tony pulled at the bandage to survey the damage. He didn't expect to see what was underneath. A murky looking powder coated her wound and the bandage. "What is this?" he asked no one in particular...


	8. Foiled Again

"My dear," Ducky entered the restroom where Ziva was curled into Tony's side. "What's happened?"

"She hasn't been able to talk with the nausea, Ducky," Tony explained. "But she didn't seem to know what was wrong when I asked her. Check this out, though; pretty strange," he indicated the bandage. "She was attacked by a dog this morning. But this doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before."

Ducky seemed perplexed by the substance. He removed the bandage completely and brought it up to his nose to smell. His eyes immediately narrowed. "Where did you get this, Ziva?"

"He-" she attempted to reply in a small voice, "He insisted."

"Who? The owner of the dog?" Ducky asked. She nodded.

"What is it?" Tony inquired.

"Whomever it was, Ziva's been poisoned."

"What?" Tony's eyes widened.

"Help me to get her out of this stall and into Abby's lab until an ambulance can get here," the older man stated.

"I've got her," Tony said as he picked her up like a small child.

"Abigail, if you can prepare your futon so that she can be comfortable..."

"Right away," Abby replied and headed quickly to the lab.

"I'll call for the ambulance," Tim volunteered.

Tony followed behind Ducky as they made their way into the lab. Abby had the futon laid out on the floor not far from the doorway.

"That is him," Ziva exclaimed in a weak voice.

"What?" Tony was confused until he met her eyes and realized that she was looking at Abby's computer screen.

"He is the dog owner," she clarified. "The man on the screen..."

Tony's heart sped up as he gently lowered her to lay on the mattress. He brushed the hair from her forehead, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Why? Who is he?"

"That's the guy who has Gibbs," he told her, narrowing his eyes. "Bastard planned this all out; the dog attacking you...It was all to distract us."

"He had to have been planning this for months," McGee said after hanging up the phone. "He knew Gibbs' schedule; that he'd be the last one here drinking coffee. He knew Ziva's running schedule. Who knows what else..."

"That means all of you could be in danger," Tony told them, pushing up from where he'd been kneeling. He headed directly to Abby's desk and picked up her Caf-Pow, then tossed it into the trash.

"Tony!" she objected.

"No food or drinks that haven't come to you sealed," he argued.

"I've had like three of those already, this morning!" she retorted. "And I got them myself!"

"That goes for you, too, McGee," he said, ignoring her statement and turning to the agent.

"O-okay," Tim agreed without question.

"Tony," Ziva called from the floor. He squatted down beside her again. She took hold of his arm, "This is not your fault."

His eyes flashed at the fact that she understood exactly what he'd been thinking. But he shook his head, "Yeah, it is, Ziva. This guy is after me. I'm supposed to be leading this team; finding Gibbs. And I've already got another one of you out of the game."

"Technically," Tim chimed in, "You didn't have the team until you came in this morning. Ziva was attacked before then."

"Semantics don't change anything," Tony grumbled before he moved to stand again. "Stay with her until the ambulance gets here," he told the younger agent. "Abs, put a BOLO out on this guy. If he was bold enough to be wandering the street this morning, chances are that he could be out and about right now; waiting for another chance to strike. I'm gonna go update Vance..."

11 00 11 00 11

"You need to stay," Ziva told Tim as they loaded her into the ambulance.

"You shouldn't be alone," he argued.

"Tony needs you. Gibbs needs you. I will be fine, McGee. Please..." her eyes pleaded with him. He knew what she was saying was true; they needed to find Gibbs, and they were already down half a team. And she didn't want Gibbs' death on her hands because they'd been hindered by her predicament. "When you find him," she continued at his silence, "You will come tell me, yes?"

Tim nodded and squeezed her hand as he resigned to leave the bus. Then he turned to the medic, "You'll let us know as soon as you know something?"

"I've got your number, Agent McGee," he gave him a small smile before closing himself inside the ambulance.

He watched the ambulance drive away just as his phone went off in his pocket. He quickly fished it out. "McGee."

"Abby's got something for us," Tony's voice sounded.

"On my way."

11 00 11 00 11

12:38. The glowing numbers on the phone shined at him like a countdown toward death. But even when he wasn't looking at the clock, the growing cold was a sickly reminder.

Every ten minutes, he forced himself to get up and walk around; keep his blood pumping and his body temperature up a bit. It was the only thing he could do right now. There'd been no calls in, and he didn't feel up to talking much more to his captor.

All he could do else, was to hope that his team would find him before it was too late. If the bastard got to Tony, at least he'd be alive to track him down and kill him before he could kill his senior field agent.

He ran a frustrated hand down his face and sighed. Wherever he'd been hidden, it had to be pretty well away. Gibbs knew that his team would've been able to find him by now, had the guy been sloppy. Clearly, he knew what he was doing.

He could do with some coffee right about now...drugs or not...


	9. One Down

Abby had gotten a hit on the BOLO...and she got it from Fornell, of all people. Fornell had been investigating a case with his team; completely unrelated. They were in a cell phone store, speaking with the owner about recently sold burn-phones, when he received a memo to his phone about the BOLO. The owner happened to see the picture when it was pulled up.

Withey had been in that very store...and purchased two phones just a few days prior.

Tobias's first instinct was to call Gibbs. With no answer, he called the next person down on his list; Abby. Why was she the next on his list? Well, DiNozzo didn't often answer calls from the FBI agent. That, and he found it slightly odd that Gibbs wasn't answering his phone. Abby was the most compliant out of the rest of them.

His fears were confirmed when Abby explained why the lead agent wasn't answering his calls. And he was more than willing to assist on the case; giving Abby all the information he could get out of the owner. With that information, Abby was able to trace one of the phones.

Now, Fornell and his team, along with Tony and Tim, were inconspicuously surrounding a cafe where the phone was now in use. The agents with the FBI were dressed in normal clothing, so not to tip off whom they were looking for. McGee and DiNozzo stood a bit farther away, as Withey would be able to spot them in an instant. But they were ready for him, if he tried to run.

"He's here," an agent's voice sounded in Tony's ear bud.

"Any sign of Gibbs?" Tony asked, quietly.

"Negative," the voice sounded back.

"Your call, DiNozzo," Fornell's voice sounded.

Tony glanced at McGee beside him, who was of course also listening. It was a tough call. Withey could lead them back to Gibbs. Or...or he had no plans to go anywhere near where Gibbs was, and they'd be wasting precious time while he waited it out in a coffee shop. If his plans were to capture Tony when they came to Gibbs' rescue, chances were that wherever Gibbs was being held, was close by; within view of Withey.

It was already past 1300. They had to take the chance. "Take him," Tony ordered.

A series of commands and shouts sounded out over the ear pieces, accompanied by frightened civilian screams. When Tim and Tony reached the front of the coffee shop, Fornell and Sacks had Withey in cuffs and was leading him out.

Withey looked pissed. Livid, even. Until he saw Tony, that is. When he saw Tony, his mouth decidedly curled up on each side. Tony's stomach lurched with anger and regret, but he didn't let it show.

"Where's Gibbs?" he asked with narrowed eyes. Withey simply laughed. Tony clenched his jaw in frustration. "Take him to NCIS," he told Fornell.

"Did you get his phone?" McGee asked the FBI agents.

Fornell's lips tightened as he let Sacks put Withey into the back of the car. "When he saw us movin' in, he threw it down and smashed it," he told him, holding up an evidence bag with the broken device.

Tony took the bag, his insides turning with utter disappointment. He turned to Tim, "Can you fix it?" he asked; almost pleaded.

McGee glanced at the contents of the bag, then met Tony's eyes, shifting back and forth between them. "Abby and I will get on it right away," he told him.

Tony nodded, shoving whatever apprehension he was feeling aside. "Pull the car around?" he tossed him the keys. Tim nodded and turned to go get it, without hesitation. "I'll see you back at NCIS," he told Tobias. "Thanks...for your help on this."

The older man narrowed his eyes at the inwardly troubled agent in front of him. "You made the right call, DiNozzo," he assured him.

"Only if Withey talks," he retorted. "And I have a strong feeling that's not gonna happen. This was his plan; or it is now."

Fornell put a hand on Tony's arm, "We'll find him, kid."

Tony met his eyes and held them for a moment, then nodded in appreciation, and watched the agent get into his car. He looked into the back seat to see Withey grinning up at him before the car pulled away. All the anger, frustration and panic seemed to flood him then. When the car was out of view, Tony's hands folded behind his head as he tearfully surveyed the area around him.

There wasn't a truck in sight, as they'd looked beforehand. Just building after building after building. Offices, shops, banks... Nothing to indicate where Gibbs might be. He found himself facing the coffee shop; his bleak reflection staring back at him from the glass window. He forced himself to straighten, gave himself a tap to the back of the head and took a breath. "No time for this, DiNozzo. Get your head on straight," he reprimanded himself.

He heard the car pull up behind him, and once he was sure his game face was back on, he turned and headed to it, entering the passenger side and buckling as he closed the door. As they pulled out, Tony called Vance with an update.

McGee drove in silence. He knew Tony was upset; even if he was hiding it well. They'd been so close, and now they were at a dead stop. And the clock was still running down...


	10. Thinning Patience

"Tell us where he is, Billy," Tony paced on the other side of the table in interrogation. "There's no point in this."

"Oh, but there is," he replied, calmly; his gangly form relaxed back into the chair. "See, I had big plans for you. Plans that got foiled, of course. But there's still one way to hurt you like you hurt me, and I'm not giving that up. Agent Gibbs has been in that truck now for...how many hours? The temperature keeps dropping; air is running thin. He'll be dead before you find him..."

Tony stopped pacing and leaned down on the table, meeting the grotesque gaze of the man before him. "Your father was killing innocent people," he told him. "He was aiming at a woman who was there with her twelve year old daughter, when I took him out. You really wanna compare this?"

"I don't care about the semantics, Agent DiNozzo," he sneered. "The fact is that you killed my father! I was fifteen! And you're concerned that he was taking out some kid's mother?" he shook his head, incredulously. "You took out my father! He was everything to me, and you just...blew him away. Nothing else matters. Nothing but you suffering the way I have, for the rest of your life, like I have."

"I didn't have a choice, kid!" Tony shouted. "This isn't revenge; it's sick! Gibbs is innocent in all this. Your father was killing people. I didn't have a choice." Withey just smiled and shook his head. "Where is he!" Tony slammed his hand down on the table with his words. Billy remained silent and held Tony's gaze without falter.

Tony knew the kid was trying to piss him off. He knew this was getting a rise out of him. So he forced himself to calm, and slowly lowered himself to sit in the chair across from him. Calmly, he spoke, "You know what happens now, right?" he asked. "You're going to prison, for a very long time. It's not going to be pleasant for you," he allowed his face to relax with his words. Then he turned, briefly, to the mirror and made a motion for them to kill the camera. He turned back to Withey, "And if my partner dies...so will you."

Withey laughed and shook his head. Tony raised his brows for a moment. "Oh you- you think I'm joking," Tony smirked. "Make no mistake, Billy-boy," he moved in closer to the kid and whispered, "I'll do it myself, if I have to. And that won't be pleasant for you either."

"I don't care what you say," he replied, just as calmly. "I'm not going to help you."

Tony remained calm and stood, giving him one last grin, "I don't need your help." With that, he went to the door as a guard on the outside let him out.

"Mind if I take a crack at him?" Tobias asked as he poked his head out of the observation room.

"He's all yours," Tony replied as he continued down the hall until he reached the elevator.

Once the doors to the shaft opened, he walked inside and hit the button. As the elevator sprang to life, he hit the emergency switch to bring it to a dim halt. In the darkened silence, he was able to hear his accelerated breathing. Every inch of him burned with anger, hatred and fear.

The man he loved like a father, the man whom he'd always looked up to the most and trusted with his life, was stuck inside of a frozen grave, slowly approaching death...and it was all because of him.

Guilt. Frustration. Rage. He was shaking with it all, and he couldn't hold it in any long. Tony's hands balled up in tight fists and he squeezed his eyes shut, wanting nothing more but to scream out. And as much as he'd intended on holding that much in, he yelled out anyway; his fist joining in the protest and smashing against the shaft wall.

The pain was delayed, but pulled him from one frustration to another. It was enough to remind him that he didn't have time for self-pity. He didn't have time to repeatedly injure himself in efforts to subconsciously distract himself from one type of pain, to another.

He cradled his hand to his chest, hoping he hadn't broken anything. He allowed a couple tears, from a mixture of this pain and...some other. Then he, once again, forced himself back under control.

With closed eyes, he consciously brought his breathing back to normal and felt his heart rate slowly come back down. He could have a nervous breakdown later. Right now, he had a team to run. And they were depending on his sanity and professionalism, to help find Gibbs before it was too late...

11 00 11 00 11

1647...

"Tell me you've got something, McGee," Tony said after he returned from the cell phone store from questioning the owner. "Withey paid big bucks to make sure the second number wasn't listed or saved in the system. Only phone it can get a call from is the one we got off of Withey. The other line can't dial out, and the GPS was disabled on it."

"I've been working on it," Tim replied. "If we can get it put together enough access the call log, we can narrow down the numbers he's called or received. Problem's been, the circuit board needed to be reassembled. I've just about got it..."

"How long is 'just about'?" Tony asked.

"I...I dunno, Tony. Could be twenty minutes. Could be an hour. Depends on whether or not the connections I'm forging hold."

"Even if you get that number, how do we call it without being able to use the phone?" Tony asked.

"We considered that," Abby chimed in. "Once we figure out the number, McGee can remotely re-enable the system's GPS. As long as the phone is still on, we should be able to get a location."

"Should?" Tony raised his brows.

"Well, without the GPS, we'd have to get the phone up and running so that we could make the call and find a general location using tower signals," she explained. "That'd narrow down the search field, but ultimately take longer to find him."

"So we're lookin' at another hour..." Tony impatiently crossed the room and turned. "Anyone hear anything about Ziva?"

"Ducky called the hospital a while ago," Tim told him. "She's stable, but they have yet to identify what the substance was on the bandage. Right now, they think it's some sort of fungi; a mushroom of some kind."

"Didn't look like a shroom, McGoo."

"In a dehydrated powder form, of course," he clarified. "It's properties are reactivated once it becomes wet. The blood from her wound, and as it was absorbed into the bloodstream, is what made it dangerous."

"But she's gonna be okay?"

"As soon as they identify what it is, they'll be able to give her an antidote," Tim told him.

"Good...good," Tony walked across the room again and turned. "I feel like I should be doing something."

"Well, there's nothing you can do for her right now-"

"No, not that," he corrected. "I should be...back out there. Back where the coffee shop was, scoping the area."

"We did that, though," McGee retorted. "Both us and Fornell's team, remember?"

"We kept an eye out for the truck," Tony clarified. "We didn't really look beyond that."  
"Beyond that?" Abby narrowed her eyes.

"Like inside places."

"Where could he hide a truck?" McGee asked. "There weren't any parking garages nearby. No garages of any kind, for that matter. It was all business-industrial."

"I just feel like...like we're missing something," Tony began pacing. "We should've been out there looking harder." He stopped, facing the small windows high on the wall. Then he turned, "I'm gonna go out there; look a little deeper."

"By yourself?" Abby raised her brows in question.

"She's right, Tony," McGee interjected. "Withey was after you. Who's to say he doesn't have someone else out there working for him?"

"Withey's locked up. I sure as hell am not gonna sit around scared while Gibbs sits in a freezer. I need to be out there," he started toward the door.

"Tony, wait!" Abby called. He stopped and turned in question. "At least...let me pull up a map of the area; narrow down the search area," she suggested.

"Okay. Call me, then. I'm gonna head that way. And I'll keep in contact with one of you at all times, alright, McWorrywart?"

"As soon as I get this up and running, I'll meet you out there," McGee replied.

Tony nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to head out of the lab...


	11. Lost and Found

From the moment Tony had stepped out of the lab, McGee's gut was churning. "I can't let him out there alone," he thought out loud.

"Well, don't," Vance's voice sounded as he entered the lab.

"Sir?" McGee looked up from his work.

"Call him; tell him to wait for you. I can take over down here with Miss Sciuto."

"But the phone..."

"I know a thing or two, Agent McGee," he retorted. "Unless you think there's someone down in Cybercrimes that can do better?"

"No, Sir."

Vance approached the table as he talked, "Once we've got the number, activate the GPS on the second phone, right?"

"Yeah...I mean yes, Sir."

"I've got this. Abby and I will be sure to contact you both as soon as we've got something. Go help DiNozzo," he ordered.

McGee stood, "Thank you, Sir." With a nod and a glance to Abby, he hurried out of the lab and pulled out his phone to call Tony...

11 00 11 00 11

1721...

"You sure Vance can get the location?" Tony asked McGee as they parked for the second time during their search, around the corner.

"Abby texted me just a minute ago and said he's got the connections working," he replied. "They're going through the list of numbers as we speak. It's just a matter of time before he can get the GPS activated."

"What if the signal can't get through the truck?" he asked as Tim grabbed his bag from the back seat and they exited the car and began walking up the street.

"If he was able to make a call out, there should be enough of a signal," Tim told him.

"There," Tony paused and pointed somewhere down the alleyway. In the distance, they could see a large intake door for what used to be the back end of a grocery store.

"It's a bit far from the cafe Withey was in," McGee furrowed his brow.

"Yeah, but look," he pointed up at a street cam. "If he was smart enough to do what he did with his phone, could he have tapped into the video feed?"

Tim looked up at the camera in thought. "Camera looks new," he commented. "And not standard issue for the rest of the cams on the block. It's possible he installed it himself. And yeah, he could've had a way to tap into the feed from wherever he was."

"Let's go; keep your eyes peeled," Tony instructed as they headed toward the large door. It was then that his phone rang in his pocket. It didn't slow him down to fetch it out, "DiNozzo."

"Tony," Abby's voice sounded on the other line. "The GPS wasn't just disabled, but manually fixed to not be able to be turned back on. But we found something interesting on Withey's line."

"Lemme guess," he said. "He was receiving a live video feed."

"Uh...yeah. How'd you know that?"

"Any luck calling the line Gibbs has?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Director Vance was actually able to set up a dial-out option to call from Withey's number from the computer," she told him.

"I called it," Vance's voice sounded, indicating to Tony that they were on speaker. "But there's no answer."

"We're working on triangulating the signal now," Abby chimed in.

"We're heading up an alleyway right now off of 24th and Main. Call me back once you have it," Tony said, then ended the call and shoved it back into his pocket just as they reached the door.

McGee was ready with the bolt cutters and went straight to work on the lock. "I take it Vance got the number," he commented as the lock broke.

"They're trying to get a location," Tony replied as he pulled the lock from the door and with team effort, they lifted it open. It was dark, so he pulled out his flashlight in search for a light-switch on the wall. What he found was a large circuit breaker with a throw-switch. He pushed it up and a series of clicks sounded as overhead lights came on one by one.

The room was gargantuan, with large separation walls running out like comically huge shower stalls. "Always looks smaller from the outside," Tony commented as he tucked his flashlight away again.

They started they journey into the long expanse of cement ground. Both of them went at a fast pace, glancing up the 'stalls' as they came into view. Neither mentioned their thoughts of how this felt fairly similar to frantically searching for a lost child in a supermarket; hoping at any moment, they'd see them down one of the aisles and breathe a sigh of relief.

"This room is the size of a football field," McGee commented. "How is it not in use?"

"Electricity is on, so I'm guessing they're in the process of selling," Tony replied.

"Probably costs a fortune... How much ya wanna bet they'd be happy to rent it out in the meantime?"

They shared a quick glance, taking a mental note to check out the landlord if they happened across something here. Of course, the very last 'stall' was where they finally happened across that something.

"Th-that's it!" McGee stuttered. "That's the truck!"

Tony couldn't even speak for the moment as he quickly approached the back of the truck which was facing them. He laid his hands on the door, finding a big lock securing it closed. "Gibbs?" he yelled out. They both waited for a moment for a reply, but got none. "McGee; bolt-cutters!" Tony requested, and Tim got them out in record time, handing them to Tony.

"Tony, wait!" Tim shouted. Tony looked at him incredulously. "What if it's booby-trapped?"

Tony's eyes twitched in frustration. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked under the truck as McGee ran to the front of it and looked in the cabin. "Looks clear here," he called.

"I don't see anything," Tony reported.

"What if there's something inside the back?"

"There's no time, McGee," he snapped. "There's only one way to find out without opening these doors, and we don't have time for that," he cut through the lock and threw down the cutters and remaining remnants of the bolt.

He pulled open the doors and was caught off-guard when a body fell out, directly into him. He fell onto his back to the ground before rolling over to realize who had fallen on him.

"Gibbs...?"


	12. Blue and White

30 minutes earlier...

The cold was unbearable. Even with his now consistent movement, running around the back of the truck as best he could, Gibbs wasn't getting any warmer. It hurt to breathe, in fact.

Slowly, it had become more and more difficult to continue moving about the small space. It was harder to think, too, and he knew that wasn't a very good sign at all.

Stumbling in his movements, he decided it would be best to not injure himself in the process. It was a possibility that he already had, and simply couldn't feel it. So, he ventured to the doors; the one place he was sure wasn't emanating the cold, and sat down.

Exhaustion was quickly overcoming him, but he was determined to stay awake, moving the best he could; rocking back and forth to keep up some form of circulation. If he fell asleep, it could mean the end of him, and there was no telling when his team would find him at this point.

At one point, he set the phone down to pull his shirt up over his face in effort to stop breathing in the cold air. But there was seemingly no warmth to his own breath anymore. Instead, he folded his arms across his torso. The feeling in his hands was pretty much non-existent.

It was several minutes later that his eyelids began to refuse his insistent requests to stay open. He heard the phone ringing, somewhere in the back of his mind. But he couldn't bring himself to reach out and pick it up. The ringing sound became distant; echoing. And then there was no more...

11 00 11 00 11

Present...

"Gibbs!" Tony scrambled up onto his knees to hover over his unconscious boss. His hands went to either side of his face, flinching at the freezing temperature of his skin. "Gibbs, come on! Come on, Boss, don't do this to me!" he frantically searched for a pulse.

McGee stood there in shock. He should've expected this, in all honesty. But seeing his boss so pale and lifeless looking...this man that they'd always assumed was some sort of superman; indestructible... And Tony, his mentor, who rarely showed such an open level of panic, now seemingly at a loss for what to do next...

But as soon as the thought left his mind, Tony seemed to snap back into action. He looked up at the younger agent, "He's alive...call an ambulance!" he ordered and turned back to their boss. As McGee fished out his phone, Tony went over in his mind what to do. "Best thing to do for a victim of hypothermia," he pondered.

When McGee was finished with his call, he turned back around to find Tony stripping Gibbs' jacket off of him. "What are you doing?"

"Don't happen to have a sleeping bag in that pack of yours, do ya, McBoyscout?"

Almost instantly, Tim realized what he was planning to do. "Uh...no," he replied. "But I do have a Mylar blanket," he said as he swung off his back and knelt with it on the ground.

"It'll have to do, until they get here," Tony said as he began removing the rest of Gibbs' clothing. "What's the ETA?"

"They said eight minutes," he replied as he pulled out the square package and began to tear it open.

"Help me get the rest of this off him," Tony told him as he began to shed his own clothes. McGee only hesitated for a moment before complying. "We can put our clothes underneath us, and then I'm gonna need you to wrap us good an' tight-"

"Like a sleeping bag, yeah. I got it," Tim finished for him. By the time he got Gibbs down to his boxers, Tony had his own clothes shed and in a pile with Gibbs', making a bit of a warm cushion beside their boss.

"Let's roll him onto his side, so he's on top of the clothes," Tony told him. They rolled him, and Tony took position laying next to and facing Gibbs. His arm went around to the older man's frigid back, and once his skin was flush with his, he violently shivered against the sudden dramatic temperature difference.

Tony didn't need to tell Tim what to do next. McGee immediately began covering them both with the blanket, tucking it snugly around them both, then going to the feet and tucking it under them there as well. He could feel Tony shivering through the blanket.

Tim stood and looked down at the display before him. This was no time for jokes, which kind of pissed McGee of just a little, since there were about a dozen of them floating around in his head right now. Hopefully, he'd remember them for later.

"God he's so cold," Tony said, almost whispering. He stayed as still as he possibly could under the Mylar. He remembered reading that rubbing the arms of the victim could be bad.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Tim asked in a quiet voice.

Tony looked at him from the corner of his eye, "'Course he is, Probie. He's Gibbs," he told him. "He has to be," he added, possibly trying to convince himself. He pulled his head back a bit to look at Gibbs' face. His lips had a tint of blue to them, and he was betting if he were to examine him more closely, his fingers and toes would, too.

Tony brought his head forward again, tucking Gibbs' head a bit under his chin. "C'mon, Boss," he shivered. "We're both pretty close to naked together in a make-shift sleeping bag and I've got n-nothin' funny to say. Y-you're missin' it."

McGee swallowed. "Tony, you should be careful. You know, trying to warm a victim of hypothermia that way could, in turn, cause you to become hypothermic..."

"Yeah...well, I'll be fine," he retorted calmly. "I can worry about me l-later." McGee couldn't help but to be worried for them both. "God this is...killing me!" Tony said as a violent shiver wracked his body suddenly.

"Tony-"

"Can you imagine?" he continued, "I've been in here a few minutes...It's gotta be warmer in this thing than it was in there. Gibbs was in there nearly 23 hours! I'm already freezing! How did he do this?"

"You've always been a bit too sensitive to the cold," Tim mused. "Gibbs is...Gibbs. And you...well, you pansy out every time we go out to a crime scene where there's snow on the ground..." he wasn't sure what possessed him to say it that way.

But Tony was suddenly laughing. He wasn't sure if it was the boldness of the statement, or slight insanity finally setting in from the day. But when Tony's laughter changed into something akin to slightly panicked hyperventilation, he settled on the latter.

"C'mon, B-boss," he whispered where his mouth sat not far from Gibbs' ear. "Ya gotta w-wake up. G-gotta be okay...wake up an' sh-show us y-you're o..okay..."

McGee had never been so thankful, in his life, to hear the sirens in the distance...


	13. Visitations

"I said I'm fine!" Tony argued with the nurse that was tending to him in the exam room.

"Now, Anthony," Ducky tried to calm him. "Your body temperature was lowered a bit when the paramedics arrived at the scene. Allow them to check you over. With your medical history, it's the least you can do."

"My temperature is just fine, now," Tony retorted. "I need to check on Gibbs."

"Jethro is being tended to, and in good hands," Ducky replied. "You've done all you can do for him, at this point. He's not even in a room yet."

"I need to know that he's gonna be okay, Ducky..."

"He's stable," the older man reassured him. "They're working to raise his temp. And at this point, they've found no tissue damage; no frost bite setting in. There's not much more we can do except to wait."

Tony seemed to visibly relax a bit, then. Or perhaps surrender. Memories from the events of the day, suddenly allowed to catch up with him, caused him to slouch over where he sat on the examination table.

Ducky could see the exhaustion in his eyes, even before the younger man had allowed it to openly show. He looked over at the nurse, "Give us a moment, would you, my dear lady?"

She gave him a small smile, "Certainly. I'll be back shortly." She turned and left the room.

As Ducky returned his attention to the senior field agent, it seemed as though Tony hadn't even heard the exchange, or even noticed the woman leave. Ducky stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Tony met his eyes. "You did exceedingly well, Tony," Ducky told him. "If not for you, I fear we wouldn't have found Jethro in time."

"He wouldn't have been taken, in the first place, if not for me," Tony retorted in a small voice.

"If we were all to remove ourselves from the world because of the evil intentions of those associated with us, every one of us would be very lonely people, indeed." Ducky's wisdom didn't seem to break through to Tony. The agent's head dropped a bit and shook in disagreement. "This was no more your fault than it was my own." Tony looked up at him with narrowed, questioning eyes. "If you don't recall, I required a ride home yesterday evening. Perhaps Gibbs wouldn't have been taken, had I not taken you from your intended post at your desk until he, too, was ready to leave for the day."

"Ducky..."

"Don't deny it, Anthony," the doctor interrupted. "You've done it more times than I can count. Now, we both know that, under most circumstances, he can take care of himself. But you still have a need, whether it be subconscious or otherwise, to make certain for yourself that he is alright; that he leaves at a decent hour, perhaps... Perhaps something more. Whatever your intentions, they've always been for his well-being. My intervening played a part in Withey's success in taking him."

"There's no way you could've known."

"And likewise, either could you have," he replied. Tony sighed, then brought both hands up to swipe slowly down his face. "What on Earth did you do to your hand?" Ducky asked.

Tony pulled both hands out in front of him, noticing the bruising on the right one; the one he'd punched the wall with earlier. He smirked and let out a small laugh, "It was the wall or Withey. And I didn't wanna give him the satisfaction of seein' how pissed I was."

Ducky gave him a small smile in return, then patted his arm with a small bit of satisfied laughter.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and in bounded Abby. "Tony!" she ran to the table as he hopped down, and threw her arms around him. "You found him! You saved him, Tony! You did it!"

Tony's arms wrapped around her and squeezed her, tightly. He hadn't realized how much he needed one of these hugs, right then. "Well all did it, Abs," he told her. "Couldn't have done it without all of you..."

11 00 11 00 11

"You found him?" Ziva's eyes filled with relieved tears where she lay in her hospital bed.

"Yeah," McGee confirmed. "Ducky says he's gonna be okay, once they get his temperature back up to normal."

"I was...afraid," Ziva admitted. "After what Withey did to me, I felt that my absence might have made it all the more difficult..."

"You should've seen Tony," Tim told her. "It was like he could sense right where Gibbs was gonna be. We found the place before Vance and Abby could triangulate the location. And once we got him out of the truck... What Tony did saved him, Ziva. He knew exactly what to do," he said with admiration and respect. "I've always known he was a great agent. But today, I couldn't have been more proud to be his probie..."

Ziva raised a brow, "Did you just refer to yourself as 'probie', McGee?" she smirked.

"I've come to terms with it," he defended. "So...how are you feeling?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.  
"Much better," she let out a breath. "They gave me something to counteract the uh...Coprine...I believe it was called. I should be able to leave here in the morning."

"Good... I wonder if they'll admit Tony..."

"Was Tony hurt?" Ziva shifted to sit up a bit as her eyes widened.

"His body temperature was down, by the time the ambulance got there," he clarified. "They're checking him out, now. Ducky says, with his already compromised lung tissue, they needed to play it safe. Tony didn't look very happy about it," he cocked his head, knowing that much wasn't a surprise.

Ziva nodded. "Withey is in custody, then. So, does he know that his plan did not work?"

"Figured I'd save that part for Tony," Tim smirked. Ziva smiled.


	14. Warm

Gibbs drifted slowly into awareness from his deep slumber. At first, he thought maybe he was dead; waking in the afterlife where he's see his wife and daughter, like he had when he'd drowned trying to save Maddie.

He was warm. Or rather, he wasn't cold anymore. Wherever he was, for that much, he was grateful. Gibbs allowed his eyes to crack open, slowly, as the light felt a bit painful in front of them. He blinked a few times until his surroundings came into better focus.

"Gibbs?" Abby's voice sounded beside him, and he looked over for her. She'd been curled up on the chair near the window, but was getting up now, and heading toward the bed.

"Guess I'm not dead," he thought.

"Gibbs! You're awake! I'm so glad you're finally awake," she took his hand in hers as she continued to ramble. "We were all so afraid. Well, Ducky said you'd probably be okay, but you know us; we couldn't leave without knowing, for sure."

As Abby continued, Gibbs processed where he was. The hospital, clearly. They must have found him, not too longer after he'd finally passed out.

Then, realization hit him full force, "Tony!" he pushed up from the bed, and Abby held him from standing out of it, by his shoulders. "Abs, Tony's in danger-"

"Tony's fine, Gibbs," she assured him

"You don't understand," he retorted. "Capturing me was a way to draw Tony into a-"

"A trap," Abby concluded for him. "We know. We knew before we found you," she told him.

"We caught him before we found ya, Boss," Tony's voice caused Gibbs to turn to look toward the door. Relief washed through him, and he stopped fighting Abby's attempt to hold him back. "Abs, Ziva's been discharged and needs a ride home. Think you can do that?"

"What was Ziva here for?" Gibbs furrowed his brow.

"That bastard poisoned her," Abby growled.

"What?"

"Guess he wanted as many of us out of the way as he could manage," she told him. "Too bad he underestimated Tony DiNozzo," she grinned.

"Abs..." Tony warned from the doorway.

"Right...I'll take her home," she agreed. "I'll see ya later on, Bossman," she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then moved to leave the room.

"Ziva's okay," Tony reassured Gibbs. "So is everyone else, for that matter. You'd be proud of McGee," he said as he approached the bed. "His boyscout nature, and all, came in handy. And not one crack about me being wrapped up in a Mylar blanket, nearly naked, with you," he smirked.

"How'd you figure it out?" Gibbs asked, curiosity written all over his face.

Tony let out a breath, "Abs found a hair on the driver's uniform; traced it to Withey. That's the guy who... I'm sorry, Boss," he hung his head. "This was all my fault. He took you in order to get back at me for takin' out his father. He wanted me to suffer, and because of that, you were his main target."

"Hey," Gibbs reached out and tapped under his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes again. "This wasn't your fault."

"That's what Ducky tried to tell me, too," he gave a slight smile that in no way reached his own eyes. "But facts are facts; Withey wouldn't have come after you if it wasn't for me."

"He wanted you to find me, DiNozzo," he narrowed his eyes. "He had all kinds of sick plans for when he got hold of you. For the first time in...a really long time, I wasn't sure what to do," his raised brows emphasized his seriousness. "Couldn't warn you; couldn't protect you. I knew you'd find me, but part of me was hopin' you wouldn't; didn't want you to hand yourself over."

"But he knew, Boss. He knew I wouldn't leave you there to die, to save myself."

"How'd you find him?"

"Fornell, actually," he smirked. Gibbs raised his brows at that. "He was on his own case, checkin' out a cell store. Got our BOLO, and the owner ID'd him as a consumer who purchased two phones three days ago. We got Withey's line's number; traced him to a cafe a block over from where we found you. He busted his phone before we could get your line, but McGoo and Vance got it working. Tim and I were actually right outside where you were being held, right as they confirmed. Withey had a camera setup that fed to his phone. He could've been anywhere and saw us approaching the building."

"You took Fornell with you to pick up Withey?"

"And his team...and McGee, of course," he replied.

"Glad you didn't try and do it alone."

"Can't afford to even consider being stupid, when you're not around to slap me in the back of the head, Boss," he partially smirked.

The corner of Gibbs' mouth curled up a bit at that. "Ya did good, DiNozzo," he told him. Tony's eyes shifted back and forth on either side of Gibbs, unable to fully accept the praise. His hands planted on his sides. Gibbs could see the telltale signs of self-depreciation pouring from the agent. "Hey," he reached out and took hold of Tony's arm. "C'mere."

Tony surprisingly felt himself pulled into an embrace; one he eagerly returned, letting out a relieved, yet shaky breath. "Damnit, Boss, I thought we were gonna lose you," he said in a near-whisper as the emotions from the previous day reemerged. "Maybe it's the exhaustion talkin', but, I was real worried there for a while."

"I was worried, myself," he admitted. "Didn't know that you'd catch on to who he was...and that I'd have led you right into his hands... Could've played out that way. Glad it didn't."

"Me too, Boss," he replied, not yet willing to pull away, but knowing he probably should. "Good to have you back..."


	15. Nightmare

Being released under the care of one Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, Gibbs was checked out of the hospital that evening. They both opted to stay at Gibbs' house. It just made more sense.

Ducky had been by to check on him before bed, and everything seemed to be just fine. Both agents were eager for the next day to begin. It was the day they'd both confront Withey.

Tony had waited until he was sure Gibbs was asleep, before heading to the guest room to try and get some, himself. He hadn't slept much, the night before. Hospital chairs were uncomfortable as hell, although he was glad not to be confined to one of the beds, this go around. Of course, he hadn't told Gibbs he'd spent the night in the room. In fact, he hadn't told him he'd needed to be checked out by the doctor, either. No need for any added stress or feelings of misguided guilt.

Tony was asleep mere minutes after his head hit the pillow...

*~.~*

Tony cut through the lock and tossed down the bolt-cutter, then pulled the remnants of the lock from the door. He flung open the truck doors and fell back as a body tumbled out to knock him over.

Gibbs... "Gibbs!" he shouted as he realized who the body belonged to. He scrambled to his knees. "Gibbs, come on! Come on, Boss! Don't do this to me!" he frantically searched for a pulse.

"Tony?" McGee's voice sounded, and he realized the younger agent was kneeling at Gibbs' other side.

"I...I can't find it. Can't find a pulse..." he kept searching. "McGee, call an ambulance!" he shouted as he lowered his cheek to hover over his unconscious boss's mouth, waiting for any sign of breath...any sign of life.

He tore open Gibbs' jacket and his hands joined on the lifeless man's chest to begin compressions. "Please please please," Tony chanted under his breath as he worked. McGee was pacing with the phone to his ear; his hand covering the other ear as he spoke to the dispatcher.

Tony's gaze fell on his boss's face again as he continued compressions. "Gimme somethin', Boss," he spoke, pleadingly. He breathed into Gibbs' mouth, knowing this part of CPR was no longer necessary, but maybe the warm air would help. Then he went back to compressions.

Suddenly, he was being pulled away by paramedics. It was as if time had gone by without him even having realized it.

He insisted on riding along in the bus. He watched the flat-line on the monitors, even as the medics worked on Gibbs; forced air into his lungs with a CPR bag.

Then he was suddenly in the waiting room. Everyone was there; Abby, Ducky, McGee, Ziva...even Vance.

A doctor came out with a grim look on his face, and approached the group. "I'm sorry," he told them. "We couldn't get him back, even after warming."

"No..." Tony shook his head; tears that had only until then been stinging his eyes, suddenly streaming down his face.

"I'm very sorry..."

*~.~*

Tony awoke with a gasp, sitting straight up in the bed. Sunlight poured into the room from the window, and it took him a moment to realize where he was. "Just a dream," he realized, as memories from what actually took place the day before, returned to him.

He made a conscious effort to return his breathing and heart rate to normal as he swiped his hands down his face. It was then that he realized it was wet with tears that he'd, apparently, shed in more than just his dream.

Tony pushed up out of bed and headed to Gibbs' room; the need to check in on him, overwhelming. He was still asleep, but obviously breathing and okay. On any other day, the fact that the sun had beaten him to the start of the day would be worrisome. But Gibbs needed his rest.

He headed downstairs to start a pot of coffee, knowing the aroma would rouse the older man to wake peacefully. They had important things to do today...

11 00 11 00 11

William McWithey sat patiently in interrogation. But he knew he wasn't there to be interrogated. In fact, he knew exactly why he was there.

As expected, the door opened, and Gibbs and DiNozzo casually walked in, closing the door behind them.

*~.~*

In the observation room, McGee and Ziva stood attentively in front of the two-way mirror. The response they were expecting from Withey, once Gibbs and Tony entered, didn't happen. In fact, he looked like he'd already been aware of the rescue.

"He's awfully calm," McGee voiced to Ziva.

"Perhaps he simply has a good poker face?" she replied. They returned their attention to the interrogation room.

The agents said what they needed to say. Everyone in the room seemed calm; satisfied. Though the agents on the other side of the glass knew better. Tony had to be pissed. Withey's disappointed face was what he'd been hoping to see, and it really didn't look as though he'd get to see it.

Eventually, they gave up. There wasn't anything worth wasting anymore time on. They didn't need to; Withey had failed.

But after Gibbs and Tony left the room, Ziva saw Withey's mouth form a sinister grin...


	16. Breathe

Before anyone could stop her, Ziva forced her way into interrogation. She immediately got in Withey's face, slamming her palm down on the table in front of him, and gripping the back of his chair with the other.

"I am not as forgiving about the outcome of this sick little game of yours," she spat.

"Miss David," he smirked. "How's the leg?"

"Ziva, come on," Gibbs told her, where he stood in the doorway.

"You failed," she continued, ignoring Withey's comment. "I am fine, and so is Gibbs. What were you smiling about?" she scowled at him. Withey laughed softly. Ziva's blood began to boil, and she slammed her hand down again, "What is so funny?"

"That you think I was working alone," he grinned.

Ziva slowly stood straight, narrowing her eyes. Gibbs stepped further into the room and approached the table again. "What the hell are you talking about?" he questioned.

"You didn't really believe I wouldn't have had a back-up plan, now did you?" he shook his head; the smug grin still planted on his squirrely face.

"Tell us now, and we'll make a deal," Gibbs requested, as calmly as he could manage.

"Oh," Withey laughed. "You're under the impression there's something you can do to stop it."

"We can, and we will," Gibbs told him. "Whether or not you tell us. You'll only be helping yourself by saving us the trouble."

Withey's mouth formed another devious grin, "Now, why on Earth, would I want to save you from anything, Agent Gibbs?"

"Fine," he replied. "Have it your way. Come on, Ziva," he grabbed her arm and headed toward the door.

"You're too late, anyway," Withey called behind them.

Gibbs only paused for a second, then continued out...

11 00 11 00 11

"Withey claims he wasn't working alone," Gibbs said as he and Ziva entered the bullpen.

Tony stood from his desk, glancing briefly at Tim. "McGee and I think we should check out the landlord at that building we found you in, Boss," he reported.

"It's likely he rented the space to Withey," McGee added. "The power was still on, and aside from how we got into the building, there were no other signs of break-in."

"We can go check him out," Tony said.

"No," Gibbs replied.

Tony furrowed his brow, "Boss?"

"If he wasn't working alone, then there's still someone out there with our faces in their head. We can't follow up on this. We'll need to hand it over."

"To who?" Tony asked.

"Fornell," he revealed.

"You're handing this to the FBI?" McGee questioned.

"Fornell and his team are already familiar with the case, if ya don't recall," Gibbs retorted. "I already made the call. They're headed over there right now." With that, Gibbs turned and headed toward the back elevator.

"Boss, where ya goin'?" Tony asked.

"To see Abby," he replied. "She insists on making my coffee until this blows over, and I need some."

11 00 11 00 11

Tony's head ached. Staring at a computer screen while filling out, what seemed like, an endless report, tended to do that, now and again.

Gibbs' desk phone rang, and he answered it fairly quickly. Ziva and McGee shared a glance as Gibbs listened on the other end. "I'll let him know," he said before hanging up the phone. He looked up at his team, "Landlord was found dead in his apartment," he reported. "Their coroner says he's been dead at least 48 hours, but Fornell's sending the body to Ducky to verify."

"I guess that's not the accomplice, then," McGee said, pragmatically.

"Perhaps Withey did not have an accomplice," Ziva stated. "He may have said so, simply to continue his game of making Tony's life hectic." She turned to look at the senior field agent that was still at his desk. His fingers were rubbing at his temples. She furrowed her brow, "Headache, Tony?"

He glanced up at her with a short nod, then blinked rapidly a few times. "'Nuffta be seein' double," he squeaked out.

"Have you eaten today?" she asked, approaching his desk.

"What're you, Nurse Nancy, now?" he asked in a sarcastic, yet low voice. "Hav'n' eat'n, no. Who knows what's safe?"

"I don't remember you eating anything yesterday, either, come to think of it," Tim chimed in.

"I've gone longer," he retorted. "And I've had enough water, b'fore ya ask. Not hungry. St'mach h'rts, an-nyway."

Gibbs stood, then. He attributed the slight slurring to, what seemed to be, a bad headache. But the stuttering had him a bit worried. He approached the desk; the others moving away to make room for him. "Where ya been getting the water?" he asked, his narrowed eyes appraising him.

Tony looked up at him with slightly drooping eyes, realizing what he was implying. "Bottles. All unbr'ken s-seals," he told him. "S'nce we lef' the hosp'tal."

"Maybe it's just a cigar," Gibbs thought. "Got anything you can take for your headache?" he asked.

Tony nodded, shortly, and reached to open his desk drawer, fishing out a bottle of pills. He set them on the desk and closed the drawer. As he reached for his water, Gibbs seemed satisfied enough to move back to his desk.

Tony cracked open the bottle of water, then fished out a pill. Both items in hand, he paused as a wave a nausea hit him full force. He closed his eyes and fumbled to set both things back down on his desk, knocking over his pencil cup in the process. This caused them all to look up from their desks.

"You okay, Tony?" Tim asked with concern written clearly on his face.

"Can't," he replied. "G'nna throw it b'ck up, if I do."

At that, Gibbs stood from his desk again, "C'mon, DiNozzo," he said as he approached him. "You're goin' to see Ducky." He took hold of Tony's arm and helped him up.

"'M fine, Boss," he insisted. "Jus' a headache."

"Better safe than sorry," he replied. He led the younger agent to the elevator, carefully. Once the doors were closed, he turned to face him. "When did this start?" he asked, quietly. Tony seemed winded from the short trip.

"'Bout an hour ago," Tony whispered back. "Wasn't this bad, though." He winced at the pain in his stomach.

"And that?" Gibbs inquired, also noting that Tony's breath hadn't seemed to return, but worsen.

"B-boss?" Tony seemed to panic, then; his eyes widening and seeking out Gibbs'. "S-someth'ng...somethin's...wrong," his breathing became a bit erratic, and Gibbs was fully forced back into his initial gut-feeling. "Can't...can't..." he gasped for breath.

Gibbs threw an arm around Tony's back to support him as he seemed he might collapse. "Okay. Alright, just don't talk, for now, Tony. We're gonna get you to a hospital." The elevator doors opened to a waiting M.E, having been alerted by McGee. "Duck, we need to get him to Bethesda," Gibbs told him.

"My word," Ducky's face washed with concern. "I wasn't expecting... Alright, let's get him into the van. We'll get him there, at once..."

*~.~*

Gibbs' first instinct would've been to drive, even if just for the sake of getting them there faster. But Tony, since the cramps had worsened, was clinging to him like a lifeline, and he didn't have the heart to try and pry him off of him. Ducky was perfectly capable of fast driving, anyway.

Tony squirmed in his seat between the two older men, unable to find a comfortable position, as if changing it would somehow ease the pain or allow him to breathe better. He, perhaps, wasn't even aware of his firm hold on Gibbs' arm.

Gibbs decidedly put an arm around his back and led the agent to lay against his chest; his other arm cradling the younger man's upper body to secure him from the jerky twists and turns on the road. Tony's hands shifted then, grabbing hold of the securing arm beneath him as another wave of cramping hit him full-force. He let out a painful groan that only lasted moments, as he gasped for breath.

Gibbs glanced at the driver, "What do ya think this is, Duck?" he asked in a quiet tone, rare to the agent.

"The symptoms you listed off to me," Ducky started, "Speech difficulty, headache, double vision, coupled with his abdominal cramping and difficulty breathing... In light of William Withey's claim to have an accomplice, leads me to believe that Anthony's been poisoned in some fashion. In this case, my guess would be botulism," he said, grimly.

"Botulism?" Gibbs repeated, incredulously.

"Mhm, yes," he replied. "Since he has no wounds, he would've had to ingest it. And he had to have done it yesterday, looking at the time-frame for symptoms to show. That's one thing I don't understand. He was so careful not to eat or drink anything unsealed..."

Gibbs had his phone out and to his ear at this point, his gut churning, "McGee," he spoke as the other line picked up. "Ducky and I are headed to Bethesda with Tony."

"Boss, did something else happen?" the anxiety in his voice was clear.

"He's not lookin' too good, right now. We think he's been poisoned; possibly with botulism."

"What can we do?" he eagerly offered.

"I need you and Ziva to check out any of the medical staff that treated him yesterday. See if any of them would be able to get their hands on this stuff."

"On it, Boss. And uh...please let us know..."

"Yeah, McGee, we will," he ended the call before he could allow his anxiety to show in his voice.

"You think it was one of the hospital staff, Jethro?" Ducky asked.

"It's possible," he replied. "Access to somethin' like that...and I'm betting they brought him food."

"Oh...oh my," Ducky seemed to suddenly realize something.

"What is it, Duck?" Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the man.

"I'm sorry I didn't recall this sooner... The nurse that tended to him; she tried to give him something to eat, but upon his refusal, gave him a glass of water instead, which he compromised on, as she insisted he drink it before she allowed him to leave."

"Could it have contained the toxin?"

"It's quite possible, yes."

"Her name, Ducky. Do you remember it?"

"I believe it was Carol. Jethro, I'm afraid this could be bad news for Anthony. With this affecting his breathing, and his already compromised respiratory system..." his sentence tapered off.

That's when Gibbs realized that Tony's grip had loosened altogether on his arm. "DiNozzo, you still with me?" he gave him a light squeeze. There was no response. "Tony?"

The van swerved into the hospital driveway and into the ambulance bay at the ER. Gibbs turned Tony over in his arms and his heart lurched as he realized the younger man's lips were blue.

He wasn't breathing...


	17. Nurse Carol

Ducky was outside yelling for help at the doors of the ER, as Gibbs shifted to pull Tony's limp body from the van. He clutched onto him, cradling him like a child in his arms as he met the rushed gurney in the middle of the ambulance bay.

Ducky explained what was happening, to the doctors, as Gibbs gently laid Tony onto the gurney. The sight of blue in the skin of Tony's face, reminded him that this fear he was currently overwhelmed with was better spent on fury at who'd caused it.

As the doctors rushed the gurney into the hospital, the lead agent followed. But his intent wasn't to chase after his friend.

"Do you have a nurse, named Carol, working in here today?" he demanded from the older woman at the reception desk.

"Carol?"

Gibbs glanced around in search for Ducky, but he'd gone in with Tony's doctors to assist in any way he could. He met the woman's eyes again. "In your records, you should see an Agent Anthony DiNozzo Jr. was seen here yesterday in the ER. He was treated by a nurse named Carol."

"Oh...well, let me just...look that up for you, Sir," she said, turning to the computer. Gibbs turned in place as he waited, impatiently. "Oh, oh, yes! Carol!" the woman's exclamation caused him to turn back around to face her. "She's only been working here about a month, is why I couldn't place her. She's pulling a double shift, but I believe she's napping in the nurse's lounge."

"Where's the lounge?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't allow you to-"

"I'm Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs with NCIS," he showed her his badge, "And she's under investigation. Now, tell me where that lounge is."

"Oh dear me!" the woman flustered. "I- I'll get someone to take you there..."

Gibbs' phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to answer. "Yeah. Gibbs," he impatiently spoke.

"Boss, we found something," McGee's voice sounded on the other line.

"Talk to me."

"One of the RN's currently employed there at Bethesda, just transferred there three and a half weeks ago. We checked it out, and she transferred from a clinic in Baltimore. Her name is Carol Winter. But get this, Boss... She changed her last name eight years ago. Her name is actually Carol McWithey..."

Gibbs closed his phone without responding, tucking it back into his pocket. Now he was sure, without a doubt, that Carol was guilty.

"I'll take you to the lounge, Agent Gibbs," a short man in scrubs approached him. Gibbs nodded and followed the man's lead. "It's right here," he pointed out the door.

"Thank you," Gibbs told him. He let himself into the lounge. The lights were dim, and he found the switch to turn them up. There was a woman lying on a cot on the other side of the room. They were the only people there, and the light caused her to stir from her sleep.

"What the hell?" she groaned.

"Carol Winter?" Gibbs asked.

"Who's asking?" she sat up and swung her legs over the side, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with both hands.

"I think you know who I am," he told her. "And I know who you really are, Ms. McWithey."

She looked up at him, then; her eyes betraying her attempt to remain calm. "I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Carol Winter."

"Oh, it is now," Gibbs said, stepping a bit closer to her. "But you had your last name changed eight years ago." Carol's eyes shifted around the room. "You and your little brother must have been close."

She met his eyes, then. "We were...a long time ago," she told him. "Until DiNozzo tore our family apart."

"And you must be, again. Took a lot of planning, to do what you both did."

"Billy did the planning," she looked up at him, though her head was bowed. "I was just here as plan B." Suddenly, her features washed with realization and she raised her head. "You're here because it worked," she said. Upon Gibbs' narrowing of his eyes, her mouth turned up in a grin, not unlike her brother's. "Then...it's okay that you found me out. This is what we wanted; it didn't matter the consequences."

"To avenge your father's death," Gibbs verified. "Why? Why throw everything away? You have a career; friends... Your brother had nothing, far as we could tell. There was nothing standing in the way of his insanity. But why would you?"

"You think a career fixed anything? I lost my family because of your agent. First, my father, then Billy. He was a different person after our father was killed. For years, he was like a perfect stranger. Then he just...disappeared. What I did with my life was an attempt to move on. But that's never left me," tears brimmed her eyes, even through her smile, and she shook her head. "Nothing's ever changed. I've never been able to move on."

"Do you even know what your father did?" Gibbs asked. She let out an annoyed sigh and looked away. "He killed three people while attempting to rob a bank. And he had his gun pointed at a woman, next, who was standing there with her little girl." Carol looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "He was gonna kill her, then her daughter, because they were crying. DiNozzo shot him, to save them. And now...now all you can think about is causing the same pain you felt from losing him. Do you really, honestly wish that feeling onto anyone? Knowing how it feels to lose someone you love... I wouldn't wish that. Not on my worst enemy."

She looked at him, head-on, now; tears rapidly filling her eyes, were now streaming in straight lines down either cheek. Carol knew of Gibbs' past, thanks to her brother's intensive digging. She knew that he'd lost his wife and daughter. So, she knew that he knew that pain...

The door behind them was forced open, causing them both to look over. McGee and Ziva stood, guns ready and aimed at Carol. "Okay, Boss?" McGee asked.

With a nod, Gibbs looked back to Carol, "Take her back to the Yard. Have her write out a confession," he ordered. Carol showed no signs of resistance as Ziva cuffed her.

"Did they figure out what was wrong with Tony?" Tim asked his boss.

"Botulism," Carol confessed. "There's an anti-toxin. There's time to help him."

"Except you didn't factor in, in all your digging around into our lives, that his lungs were already compromised from a previous bout with the pneumonic plague," Gibbs scowled at her.

Carol dropped her gaze to the floor, "I- I'm sorry..."

Gibbs found it difficult to have any feelings of sympathy or forgiveness in the current status of things. After a few moments, he realized that Ziva and Tim were looking at him worriedly, from what he'd just mentioned. They were investigators; it wasn't hard to determine that that meant there was a problem with his lungs now.

He took a breath and noisily let it out, "Get her out of here. I'll call you as soon as I know something."

With a bit of hesitancy, they left to follow their orders.

And with that, Gibbs was left with one thing to focus on... Hoping that Tony would pull through...


	18. Prognosis

"He's sedated and on mechanical ventilation," Ducky told Gibbs, once he came out to the waiting area. "The gas exchange in his lungs was inhibited by the botulism toxin."

"But they gave him an anti-toxin, didn't they?"

"They did. However, even once the toxin is out of his system, the gas exchange was severely inhibited. And given Anthony's medical history, well, you can imagine it took a bigger toll than on the average man."

"What's this mean for him, Duck?" Gibbs asked, before swallowing a lump in his throat.

"The ventilator will stay in for as long as several weeks. This will give his respiratory system time to recover and begin functioning normally again." Gibbs seemed greatly disturbed by this information. "Respiratory failure and paralysis is a serious matter, Jethro, as you well know."

"Yeah, I do. But Tony didn't even need a ventilator when he had the plague..."

"Because he was adamant about not having it," Ducky told him. "As I recall, he said that he didn't want to spend what time he had left, sedated. It would've brought too much pleasure to his team, that he not go out talking as much as he possibly could manage," he said with a small, sad smile.

Gibbs closed his eyes and shook his head, clenching his jaw at the memory of his agent under those blue lights, all those years ago. But he also knew a more likely reason he'd refused the mechanical device. "He was afraid," Gibbs said as he opened his eyes. "He might've wanted you...us to think that it was for that reason, but he was afraid to be on that machine. Hell, he can barely tolerate a needle..."

"He won't be aware of it," Ducky reassured him. "Like I said, he'll be sedated."

"For weeks, Ducky?" he verified incredulously. "Seems...I don't even know. That's a long time..."

"I know. But the regeneration of axons in the nerves takes time. And in that time, the paralysis should improve."

"Should?"

"It will, I'm sure. Anthony's never been one to disobey a direct order, which I'm sure you'll provide him with," he smirked. Gibbs wiped a frustrated hand down his face. "Now, upon his recovery here in the hospital, it may be even longer until he can come back to work. In the field, at least. He'll likely have trouble with things like shortness of breath, fatigue... I can't create that list in completion, as his will be a unique case. But I do believe that it'll be his worst fear that he won't be able to come back to work, at all."

"That's not gonna happen," Gibbs stated. "But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Can I see him?"

"They're setting him up in his room, now. Give them a few minutes; they'll send someone out when it's time," the older man stood. "I'll get you some coffee, in the meantime. I'm headed to the cafeteria for a spot of tea, myself. Perhaps you can give an update to the rest of your team, whom I'm sure are eagerly awaiting news."

Gibbs nodded to him, "Thanks, Duck."

11 00 11 00 11

"It's been hours," McGee's knee bounced, incessantly under his desk. He and Ziva had chosen against telling Abby anything at all, until they heard news. Her anxieties would only heighten theirs, and theirs were sky-high by themselves.

They'd both done research on the effects of botulism. After booking Carol, they'd had hours to research. They knew what Tony could be going through, and it was driving them both out of their minds not knowing...

"Do you suppose," Ziva spoke as she stood from her desk and approached McGee's, "That because of his already scarred lungs, this could be worse for him?"

"Worse?" his voice inadvertently squeaked.

"You saw the list of symptoms, McGee," she replied. "And like you said, it has been hours...almost three, to be exact. We have heard nothing. What if..." her eyes shifted back and forth, unable to finish the sentence.

McGee swallowed, audibly. Then he jumped when his phone rang. He grabbed it before Ziva had the opportunity. "McGee." After a moment, he mouthed the words, "It's Gibbs," to Ziva. She hurried to her desk to patch herself into the call.

"They think he's gonna be okay," he explained. "But Ducky says he'll be on a ventilator for several weeks. And he'll be sedated for it. You can come by an' see him, if you want. But just know, he won't be awake for it."

"But he'll be okay," McGee verified. "That's good..."

"Can we do anything?" Ziva asked.

"Not sure there's anything else we can do, right now, Ziver."

"We'll start on our reports, Boss," McGee told him. "And I'll let Vance know what's going on, if you want."

"Sounds good, Tim." He called him 'Tim'. Tony must have scared the hell out of him. "Might as well let Abby know what happened."

"Uh...Boss, how do you know we haven't told her?"

"Because she's not here, McGee. And she's not hounding me with phone calls."

"Oh...right. Well, we just didn't wanna worry her, is all."

"I will go and tell her, now," Ziva offered.

"She'll be pissed that you waited until now," he warned.

"I'm prepared to handle that," Ziva retorted. "I will see you later, Gibbs. You will be there?"

"Not goin' anywhere else," he replied. Ziva hung up her line, glanced at McGee, then headed out of the bullpen.

"Boss, is there anything you need?" Tim asked.

There was a brief pause on the other line. "You could grab my overnight bag from my trunk. Keys are in my desk."

"Sure thing. I'll be by, sometime tonight." He was mostly grateful when the other line disconnected without another word. He wasn't sure what else to say...


	19. Waiting

The sight of Tony DiNozzo, sick and only breathing because of a machine, was a very difficult thing to absorb.

Gibbs hovered beside the bed, appraising the vulnerable state of his agent. The younger man, usually beaming with vitality, and exuding confidence, was eerily still and silent. His skin was still tinted blue, and his eyes lined with dark circles. Just a reminder that Tony had stopped breathing in Gibbs' arms, just hours earlier.

The lead agent placed a gentle hand on Tony's forehead, brushing the hair back a bit before settling. If he could see his reflection, Gibbs would realize the open look of absolute worry on his face.

He bent down, taking one of Tony's lax hands in his free one, and spoke close to his ear. "I need you to get better, DiNozzo," he told him. "We all do. So you fight this; fight to get better. You...don't have permission to give up. And I won't accept the excuse that you don't hear me..." his eyes darted to scan the man's face for any sign that he'd heard. But none came.

After a long moment, he spoke again, "I'm not giving up on you..."

11 00 11 00 11

19 days later...

The team was beginning to wonder if Tony would ever be ready to come off of the ventilator. It'd been a difficult few weeks, dealing with a temporary replacement that Vance had insisted upon them taking. Antonio Berk. How uncleverly ironic that the guy's name was Tony...

They, unsurprisingly, didn't allow the agent to sit at DiNozzo's desk. And equally, refused to call him by his first name. It was a game of stubbornness that they'd always played, when a newbie was around. But this guy definitely was not for keeps. His presence merely reminded them that one of theirs wasn't there.

They'd each visited Tony on most days. Abby went every free lunch she had. McGee would sometimes join her, or go after work just to check in on him. Ziva went early in the mornings, reassuring herself that he was still alive. Ducky made regular calls to Dr. Pitt, who had gladly taken over Tony's case. And he'd go by now and again to check for himself.

Gibbs was there every day. His routine was to go home after work, force himself some kind of dinner, take a shower, then go sit with Tony for a couple of hours. He'd talk to him, some days; let him know they missed him, or what the new guy messed up on any particular day. Some days, he sat in silence. Those days were the hardest, because he was preoccupied with worrisome thoughts; discouraged feelings about the agent's recovery, and what it would be like if Tony were to never open his eyes again.

Those days were often followed by nights filled with prayer to a God he wasn't even sure existed. One whom had been so cold as to take away his wife and daughter, but so forgiving as to have kept this very agent alive, against all other odds, in the past. Not to mention, sparing his own on several occasions.

Yes, there were many occasions that seemed to nudge him in the direction of there being a possibility that there was some higher power looking out for them. After all, he didn't believe in coincidences. He just hoped that whatever power that was, he was begging to the right one.

Yet here they were, on a Friday, heading toward the third week since Tony had been admitted. And there was no change. The doctors said that his lungs had shown a bit of improvement. But what did that really mean, in the grand scheme of things? A bit... How long was this supposed to take? Or were they keeping him alive as some form of false hope for the rest of them?

Gibbs refused to believe that. Though, the idea had been planted and therefore mentally poisoned his thoughts. He refused, however, to voice it.

"Go home," Gibbs told the team.

Their heads lifted, simultaneously. First glancing at Gibbs, then to each other.

"Boss? It's just barely five..." McGee's brow crinkled in question.

Gibbs raised his brows, "Glad third grade taught someone, other than myself, how to read a clock," came his snarky retort.

"I...It's just...Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Been a long week," Gibbs claimed. "We're not on call, this weekend. Go home and enjoy it." His gaze fell back to a folder on his desk.

Berk had been packing up his bag since Gibbs' initial 'go home, and was headed toward the elevator at a fast pace, now. Ziva was tired, and so chose not to argue the matter, and was soon headed off as well.

Tim took his time packing up his things. Once it was just the two of them in the bullpen, he turned off his monitor and slung his backpack over his shoulder, then made his way to Gibbs' desk. "What about you?" he asked. Gibbs looked up from his folder, glancing at the unoccupied desks around them, before settling his gaze on the agent before him, questioningly. "Does that order apply to you, too?"

Gibbs raised an amused brow, "I won't be here," he told him. "I can say that much."

McGee nodded, knowingly. Then, only slightly unsure, he replied, "I'll see you at the hospital, Boss." Then he turned and headed toward the elevator.

Gibbs silently watched him go. He knew the younger man was taking Tony's absence particularly hard. Despite their continuous teasing at each other, Tim and Tony did care about each other. Though they wouldn't admit it out loud, it was evident. McGee was Tony's probie. And Tony was McGee's mentor, in more ways than the younger would ever admit. But Gibbs knew.

He also knew that this fueled his misguided hatred of their temp agent. But everyone knew that being on team Gibbs was far from an easy ride. Berk was aware of what he was getting himself into, taking this job. And Gibbs wasn't going to reprimand or force anyone to get along with him on more than a professional level.

As McGee disappeared into the elevator, Gibbs' desk phone rang. "Yeah. Gibbs," he answered once he picked up.

"Jethro," Ducky's voice sounded on the other line. Gibbs' heart dropped a bit in his chest. He knew Ducky was meeting with Dr. Pitt that afternoon; that that's where he was now. "The doctor felt fit to attempt a test without the ventilator."

"And?" his voice sounded higher-pitched than he'd intended.

"They've removed the tube. Anthony is breathing on his own." Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief, and allowed his eyes to close for a moment. "They're weaning him from sedation. I thought I'd let you know. He hasn't woken yet."

"I'll be there, soon, Duck," he replied. "Thank you." He set the receiver down and leaned heavily back in his chair, allowing his gaze to hit the ceiling in silent thanks to whomever had answered his prayers.


	20. Awakening

The relief, though happily accepted, caused Gibbs to realize just how exhausted he was.

Sitting beside his senior field agent's hospital bed, he appraised Tony's form for the first time without the mechanical monstrosity that had been a part of him for almost three weeks. He looked, now, as if he were merely catching some sleep. That fact, alone, caused a welling feeling of joy in the older man's heart.

Still, he longed to hear Tony's voice. He hadn't gone so long without it since his deployment at sea, as agent afloat, back when Vance had just taken over as director. Gibbs had missed the hell out of him, then. But at least then, he'd known the agent was at least healthy... Well, as healthy as one could expect, being so far away from home and family.

Gibbs leaned back in the chair, thinking back on the last time he'd seen Tony without that damned machine; without the invasive tube protruding from his mouth. The fear that he'd felt from the moment Tony started gasping for breath in the elevator, and the struggled, painful journey to the hospital... The moment he'd realized Tony was no longer breathing, then turning him over to see the blue tint to his skin...

He pulled himself out of that memory, and focused back on the man in the bed. Tony wasn't blue anymore. In fact, he looked normal, now; though a bit thinner than usual. Gibbs couldn't help but to think about that bridge he'd discussed with Ducky, back when all of this was just starting. The road to recovery was still long for Tony. But Gibbs would be there for him, one hundred percent of the way.

It took him a moment to register when Tony's eyes opened, suddenly. They were cracked maybe halfway, not focusing on anything in particular. But it caused Gibbs to be on his feet in that moment, and at the bedside. "Tony? You with me?" he lightly gripped Tony's bicep.

Tony blinked a few times, then opened his eyes all the way, seeking his boss's face. "Gi-" the name was cut short by what felt like sand in his windpipe, and he was thrown into a coughing fit.

"Okay, alright," Gibbs tried to soothe as he hit the nurse call-button. "Let me get you some water. Your throat's dry and sore from the ventilator that was in for a while," he explained as he held a small cup of water to Tony's mouth, while supporting his head to tilt up.

Tony gratefully accepted the drink. Then, when he choked a bit, Gibbs pulled the cup away. "Th'ks," Tony rasped out.

"Good evening, Agent DiNozzo!" a bubbly nurse entered the room; one that had been cleared by security. "How are you feeling?"

"Thro' hur's," he replied in a weak voice.

"That's to be expected," she gave him a sympathetic smile. "We had you on humidified oxygen, earlier. But Dr. Pitt didn't want us to keep it on for too long, as he fears you're a high-risk for pneumonia. I'll get you some ice chips, and page the doctor to come take a look at you, okay?"

Tony nodded and waited until the nurse left, to turn and look at Gibbs again. "Brad? How bad off?" he questioned.

"Not bad, anymore," Gibbs assured him. "You had us worried for a while, there..."

Tony furrowed his brows, "How long...been here?"

"Almost three weeks," he didn't beat around the bush. Tony seemed disturbed by that response.

"Wha' happen'd?"

"The nurse that saw you in the ER, poisoned you with botulism," he explained. "Most serious symptom was the respiratory failure and paralysis. They had to vent you to let you heal."

"Guess I...sh'd be...happy I was...s'dated," he smirked. "Who...was she?"

"McWithey's sister," he cocked his head. "We got her; she confessed."

Tony seemed to contemplate that for a long moment. Then his gaze settled on Gibbs again. "When...do I...get outta here?"

"Certainly not before I take a look at you, Tony," Pitt's voice sounded at the door. Tony glanced over at him with a grin. "Some things never change," the doctor smiled. "Good to see you awake," he said in a more serious tone. "Are you in any pain? Aside from your throat, that is..." The nurse came in with ice chips, then.

Tony shook his head, and Brad moved to check his eyes, then listen to his heart and lungs. Gibbs stood back, silently observing. "Well, Tony, you're lookin' a lot better, and your lungs sound clear. I'd like to keep you on this oxygen a couple more days," he said, straightening the nasal cannula. "But if you keep this up, I think you'll be okay to go home." At the discouraged and distant look on Tony's face, Brad continued, "You're actually pretty lucky, Tony." His eyes met Brad's again. "There's so much more that could've gone wrong. Your respiratory system took the brunt of the blow, but you could've lost the use of the rest of your body, as well. It'll take time, but you'll recover, fully."

"How much...time?" Tony asked.

Brad sighed, "I'm not gonna beat around the bush. It'll be a while until you're 100% back to yourself. Fatigue and shortness of breath will stay with you for a while."

"How long?"

"Could be weeks. Could be months... It varies, but don't get discouraged," he added when he saw the frustration in the agent's face. "You've recovered from worse." Tony picked up the cup of ice chips and put one of them into his mouth. "Some people have to be hospitalized for months after going through what you have. So, you're already beating the odds."

"Tha's mah middle name," he said, around the ice in his mouth, "Tony 'beat-the-odds' DiNozzo."

Gibbs smirked at that, as did Brad. "I'll see what I can do about getting you something to eat," the doctor told him. "See you in a little bit," he gave him a short nod and turned to leave the room.

Gibbs remained silent for a few minutes, watching Tony chew the ice chips and contemplate what he'd been told. It wasn't until Tony set the cup down, that he decided to speak. "What're ya thinkin', DiNozzo?"

Tony turned to look at his boss. "Honestly? 'bout who Vance has sittin' at my desk," he smirked.

"No one's sittin' at your desk," he told him. Tony narrowed his eyes. "He's sitting at the one on the other side of McGee," he smirked.

"So, I have been replaced," he confirmed.

"He's temporary," Gibbs assured him. "And he's useless. Not that if it were any different, we'd be able to replace you anyway." Tony flinched at the unexpected compliment. "Fatigue and shortness of breath doesn't stop you from anything but field work. The few times we've taken Berk out with us, he's slowed us down. So we stuck him on desk-duty. And honestly, he's not really all that great at that, either. If you're worried about your job, Tony, don't be. You know I wouldn't let you off my team unless that's what you wanted... Or," he cocked his head with a small smirk, "If you were dead. Which you're not."

Tony had a slightly amused look on his face. "What if I'd been paralyzed? You like me that much that you would've made sure I still had a place on the team; had McGoo make me one of those computers that I could control with my eyes?"

Gibbs was surprisingly ready for a retort, "Your brain is what makes you a great agent, Tony." Tony raised a brow at that. "Sure, there's a lot of other things that make you the agent you are. But as long as you have the ability to think, there will be a place for you on my team."

Tony studied Gibbs' face for a long moment. Gibbs didn't lie; Tony knew that. He definitely did not hand out compliments unless they were truly deserved. And even then, he usually didn't hand them out... Whatever had happened to him, must have scared Gibbs, to make him confess these things to Tony. It must have scared him like it had scared Tony when they waited on Gibbs' prognosis after finding him in that garage.

Whatever the reason, Tony felt an indescribable feeling of happiness that his boss thought so highly of him. He just hoped that, in the long-run of all of this, that he wouldn't let him down...


	21. Breathing Easy

Monday...

"You really think he is going to try to come in today?" Ziva questioned from her perched position on the corner of Tim's desk.

"It wouldn't surprise me," he replied. "He came back early after the plague, too." McGee looked over at Tony's desk. The truth was, he kinda hoped he was coming in today. He missed him. The awake Tony, that is. As annoying as he might be a majority of the time, whenever Tony was away for a while, Tim always missed him.

He'd seen him Saturday at the hospital, eager to leave despite the fact that he'd only been aware of about 24 hours of his hospitalization. But what McGee wanted to see was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo; dressed in an over-priced suit instead of a hospital gown and nasal cannula. He wanted to hear the exaggerated date stories and abundant movie quotes, instead of the weak voice and spaced out words from his shortness of breath.

"He does not seem ready," Ziva pulled him from his thoughts. "When I drove them to Gibbs' house last night, he was very...fatigued, just from the walk to the living room from the car."

"Yeah. Ducky says he'll be like that for a while," Tim told her. "So he'll be on desk-duty until his lungs are ready for field work."

The familiar ding of the elevator sounded, and Ziva made her way back to her desk.

"Still, I must say I'm surprised," Ducky said as he and Gibbs came out of the shaft. "I rather thought he'd insist."

"He barely had the energy to finish breakfast, Duck," Gibbs replied. "Don't think he could begin to think to argue about comin' in."

"Is he wearing the oxygen to bed, as the doctor ordered?"

"Yeah."

"And he realized I'll be by this evening for the therapy?"

"I said he was tired, Ducky. Not having a problem with his memory."

"Hmm," the doctor let out a soft grunt. "Very well," he glanced around the bullpen as they approached.

"Therapy?" McGee questioned Ducky, with a furrowed brow.

"Yes, Timothy," he replied as he approached the agent's desk. "I took the liberty of brushing up on what I know of respiratory therapy when Anthony was recovering from the plague those few years ago. This will be a tad different, but I'm aware of what needs to be done. It's much like any physical therapy, except that it will be his breathing that will be exercised, instead of an arm or leg." Ducky stepped a bit closer to him and lowered his voice to a whisper, "What unfortunate soul had today in the pool?"

"Just me," he grimaced. Ducky chuckled and patted Tim's arm.

11 00 11 00 11

"Cleansing breaths, Ducky? Really?" Tony questioned after being directed to lie flat on his back on the bed.

The shallow breathing that accompanies your weakened respiratory system, tends to only utilize the top half of the lungs. This means not only is half as much air taken in as possible, but also that stale air is not effectively removed. Removal of metabolic waste products through the breath is an important part of the body's regulatory balance, and a build up of these toxins in the lungs is harmful. The lungs can be cleansed and strengthened through slow, deep breaths that fill and empty the lungs completely."

"Alright, alright," Tony whined. "Let's strengthen one muscle at a time, okay? No lessons in medicine for me, tonight."

Ducky let out a soft chuckle. "Let's get started then, shall we? Interlace your fingers at the bottom of your ribcage. Focus on this area as you inhale, allowing your belly to rise as your diaphragm lowers. Inhale steadily and deeply, but don't strain." He watched as Tony followed the instructions. "Now, relax your diaphragm; watch as your finger fall with your belly and ribcage, and exhale, steadily."

"Like that?" Tony said, once he'd finished.

"Yes. Very good, Anthony. Now I'm going to set this timer, and I want you to continue this until it goes off. Understood?"

"Think I can manage this, Ducky," he smirked.

"Very well, then. I'll leave you to it, and check on Jethro to see how dinner is coming along," he gave him a small smile and left the room.

Left to himself, Tony continued to follow the regimen Ducky had laid out for him. This was easy, he thought. Finally, something he could handle. It was bad enough, this morning, having to endure the watchful, concerned eyes of his boss as he ate breakfast. Truth be told, he hadn't even wanted to get out of bed that early. But the stubborn side of him forced himself to.

He'd wanted to go into work. But the journey to the table had wiped him out, and halfway through breakfast, all he could think about was getting back to bed. Once Gibbs had finally taken off, Tony had worked his way to the couch and passed out the majority of the rest of the work-day.

Tony had spent the hour before Gibbs got home, making it back to his room, and putting on his oxygen mask. The exertion of climbing the stairs was supposed to be good for his recovery. The oxygen, as well. If only he could manage to do something besides sleep, he could do more of that; walking around, and such.

Even as he'd thought the thought, Tony felt himself being pulled into another fit of fatigue. Beside him, he heard the alarm go off, but he couldn't bring himself to move his arm to cut it off. And despite the noisy beeping, he was soon fast asleep...


	22. Panic

"You sure you're good?" Gibbs asked for probably the fifth time since he'd helped Tony settle back at his apartment. He'd spent a week at Gibbs' place, and had built up enough of his stamina to function, as far as stairs, and walking around the house without needing a nap five minutes later.

"Yeah, Boss, I'll be fine," he insisted. "You'll be here around 0600, right?"

"Yep. I'll call half an hour prior."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yeah, I do. 'Cause if I get here and you're not ready, I'm gonna be pissed," he told him, halfheartedly.

Tony smirked, "I'll be ready. Call, if it makes you feel better," he winked.

"G'night, DiNozzo," he turned to head to the door. Tony followed so that he could lock up once he left. But Gibbs turned again to face him. "You have any problems, you don't hesitate-"

"To call. Yeah, I got it, Boss," he smiled. "I'll be fine. Seriously. Go home, Gibbs," he practically shoved him out the door with a snicker.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were tryin' to get rid of me," Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "You got a date comin' by or somethin'?" he raised his brows.

Tony laughed at that, "Oh yeah. That's definitely it. What better way to test my stamina?" his sarcasm wasn't missed by Gibbs. "But seriously, I just wanna get some sleep. My boss is a hard-ass; makin' me get up at five in the morning," he grinned. Gibbs shook his head, eyes rolling as he turned with an amused smirk on his face, and began to walk up the hall. "G'night, Boss!" Tony called after him before going back inside and shutting the door.

Much as he told Gibbs, Tony headed straight for bed. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. But at some point in the night, his brain switched into dream mode, and he was thrown into a series of nightmares.

The same dream that had been taunting him from the beginning; losing Gibbs to the horrific events that unfolded before he'd found him in that truck. But he was prepared for this one. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this wasn't real. Just a morbid reminder of how things could've happened.

It wasn't until the next dream, that things became frightening.

The team was gathered around Gibbs' kitchen table having dinner, much like they'd done a couple nights ago. They were laughing at something Tony had said. But their smiles faded when Ziva started choking. Or what they'd assumed was her choking...

It only took a few moments for Tony to realize that she'd actually been poisoned. McGee was on the phone, calling for an ambulance as Gibbs glanced around to make sure no one else had started eating. Tony was holding on to Ziva, trying to comfort her as she suffered.

And suddenly, there he was... McWithey. He held McGee in front of him, with a gun pressed up against his temple.

"Let him go," Gibbs calmly requested.

"That's not how this is going to work, Agent Gibbs," he replied.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I already stopped the call for help," McWithey revealed. "So you don't have much time. You'll comply with whatever I tell you."

"What do you want from us?" Tony repeated the question.

McWithey turned his head to look at him. "All I need from you, DiNozzo, is for you to sit there and watch," he told him.

Tony narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing before he looked down at Ziva. Her face was pale; her lips blue. She was staring straight at him, unmoving. "Zi?" he stroked her cheek. "Ziva?" he felt his eyes fill with tears as he checked for a pulse and found none. "What did you do to her?" he looked back up at McWithey, who grinned.

"I took her away from you," he told him. "You think I didn't have another way?"

"You sonofabitch!" Gibbs shouted at the madman, then looked to Tony, who was carefully setting Ziva down on the floor. "I'll kill you, myself," he told Billy.

"No, Boss," Tony said as he stood. "I'll kill this asshole."

"Will you, now?" he sneered. "I'll get two shots off before either of you can reach me," she looked between Gibbs and Tony. "Who do you think will be left standing?" Tony felt himself flinch. He met McGee's frightened eyes. The younger agent had been looking, anguished, at Ziva's body. But his eyes soon met Tony's. "Well?" Billy spoke. "Come on, already. What are you going to do?"

Tony glanced to Gibbs. He saw something he'd rarely ever witnessed in his life from the man; hesitation.

"Oh to hell with this," Billy grumbled.

Tony's eyes shot back to him right as he pulled the trigger. "No!" he shouted as McGee's lifeless body collapsed to the floor. Billy backed up a bit as Tony fell to his knees beside the fallen agent. "No, Tim!" he panicked as his hands hovered over his body. There was no need to check for signs of life...if the hole in the side of his head and the blood pooling beneath it were any indication. "No..." tears streamed down his face for the loss of his comrade, his friend...his brother.

Tony looked up at the murderous bastard just as he raised his gun and aimed it at Gibbs. "What will you do once I've taken out your entire family, Agent DiNozzo?" Billy asked.

Tony was desperate, now. He couldn't let this happen. "Please...please, Billy, don't do this," he slowly stood.

Slowly, a demonic grin painted McWithey's face. "See? Now that's all I've been looking for; your completely and utter dismay." With that, Billy pulled the trigger...

The world slowed...Tony could see the bullet fly, and couldn't move to stop it. If he hadn't been frozen, he would've jumped in front of it. But he was, and couldn't... He watched it as it traveled across the room. He yelled out for Gibbs to move, but he didn't seem to hear him.

And suddenly, everything was full-speed again. Gibbs dropped to the ground; a hole in his forehead...

Tony woke with a start, sitting straight up in his bed. The first thing he realized was the fact that it was just a nightmare; none of it was real. The second thing...he couldn't breathe...

Sure, technically, he was breathing in and out. But no matter what he did to try and calm himself, his breaths were rapid and wheezy, and felt like he wasn't getting enough air. This caused him to panic a bit. He didn't want to go back to the hospital. But he didn't want to suffocate after having insisted to Gibbs that he'd be fine.

Tony scrambled for his phone, with shaky hands, on the bedside table. Glancing at the clock for a moment, he cursed under his breath that it was just before five in the morning. Then he found Ducky on his speed-dial...

11 00 11 00 11

Ducky was pulled from his sleep by the ringing of his phone beside his bed. He looked at the clock, noting that his alarm would've been going off soon, anyway, and he picked up the line. Before greeting the caller, he could hear the wheezing through the receiver. He pulled the phone away for a moment, to check the ID, then put it back to his ear, "Anthony? Is that you?"

"Duck...dunno what's...happening..."

"Alright, now. The first thing you need to do, is to calm yourself," Ducky said as he got up out of bed and gathered something to change into.

"Tried that...Ducky..."

"What happened? What were you doing before you called?"

"Sleeping...Had a...nightmare..."

Ducky nodded to himself, "It must've been a bad one. Anthony, I need you to listen carefully to me," he instructed. "In your bathroom, in the drawer farthest to the right, there are your two inhalers."

"Probably...expired..."

"Yes, well, had I not been interchanging them to avoid that problem, they would be. Now, find the one in the blue case. Are you able to get to the bathroom?"

"Almost there...Ducky..."

"Good, good. Once you've found it, you need to shake it well. You know how to use it. Two sprays, and hold it in for as long as you can. You can put the phone down, if you need to, but stay on the line with me. I'm readying to head that way to you..."


	23. Questionable Issues

It was harder to breathe out, than it was to breathe in, Tony realized as he sunk to the bathroom floor with the inhaler in hand.

He shook the container and quickly followed Ducky's instructions. It was a bit difficult to hold in the medicine; hold his breath for long. But he did the best he could. Soon, as he released his breath, he could tell that it was working. His airways were opening back up, and he was left with just the shaky after-feeling that he'd originally woken up with.

Tony recalled, instinctively, the need to rinse out his mouth. He stood from the floor and turned on the tap, scooping cold water to his mouth. A distant voice was heard, and he realized Ducky was still on the line. He dried his hands on his pants and picked up the phone.

"Ducky?"

"Anthony! Thank goodness. Are you alright?"

"Seem to be. The inhaler worked. What's that mean? Do I have asthma now or something?"

"Well, we shouldn't jump to any conclusions," Ducky told him. "Your airways sounded as though they were closing up a bit. There are a number of reasons that could've happened. Let's let me have a look before we come to a diagnosis, shall we?"

Tony sighed and wiped a hand down his face. "Alright. I'll unlock the door. Let yourself in when you get here."

*~.~*

"Well, all your vitals seem normal," Ducky said after checking Tony out. "And you're breathing sounds the same as the last I checked it. What happened could've been a combination of a panic attack and the weakened state of your lungs to begin with."

"Or adult-onset asthma..."

"I'm not certain of that, Anthony. But just in case, I suggest you carry that inhaler around with you."

Tony nodded, looking away from the doctor. "'Kay."

"Don't be discouraged," Ducky put a hand on his arm. "Even if it turns out that that's what it is, it won't stop you from your job."

"You can't be serious," he looked back at Ducky. "Of course it would! Can you imagine me running after suspects and having to stop to use my inhaler?"

"There are medications that lower the frequency of needing to use it, if it is, indeed, asthma," he explained.

Tony was quiet for some time after that, pondering what Ducky had said. "I'm gonna hit the shower, Ducky," he said, finally. "Sorry for makin' you come all the way here..."

"Nonsense, Tony. I would've been upset had you not called me. I'm glad to be of some help," he said as he stood. "So, if you need anything else, you'll call?"

"Sure," he replied, walking him to the door. "See ya later, Ducky..."

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs was speeding toward Tony's apartment. He'd called Tony's phone three times now, and there had been no answer. That fact troubled him greatly. The first call, he figured would've woken him up, if he'd been sleeping. The second unanswered, had him heading to the car. The third had downright made his heart race.

Tony had always answered when he was at Gibbs' house and someone called him; even when he'd been sleeping. And he knew to always answer when Gibbs called. Or at least call him back when he finally got to his phone.

So he waited, glancing at the phone every other minute, as he sped toward the apartment; waited for him to call back. But no call came. And soon, he was coming to a screeching halt in front of Tony's apartment building. He left everything in the car, but his keys, and raced up to the apartment, letting himself in with the spare key DiNozzo had given him long ago.

"Tony?" he yelled out as he answered. He headed toward the bedroom just as Tony came out with a towel around his waist; phone to his ear.

"Boss!" he looked surprised. "I was just calling you back," he ended the call and set the phone down. "It's only quarter-till...what're you doing here? You said six..."

Gibbs let out a relieved, yet frustrated sigh, "I called ya fifteen minutes ago, Tony. Ya didn't answer... I thought somethin' might've happened."

"I just...took an extra long shower, is all... I didn't even realize the time, Boss. I'm sorry."

"Well, ya should be!" he half-shouted. Tony flinched slightly, and Gibbs realized he might be overreacting. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault..."

"You said you'd call at 5:30," Tony admitted. "It's my fault I wasn't out here to answer."

"My fault for bein' paranoid. Guess we're both to blame, a little." They both stood there a while; Tony looking unsure of what to say. He didn't want Gibbs to know about what had happened earlier... "I left my coffee home," Gibbs spoke. "I'm gonna run out and get some. I'll be back in fifteen. Try an' be ready?" he raised a brow.

"I'll be ready in ten, Boss," Tony grinned.

With a nod, Gibbs turned and left the apartment. Tony let out a breath, allowing his eyes to close for a moment in relief...


	24. The Case of the Missing Lieutenant

"Tonyyyyy!" Abby hug-attacked the senior field agent as he and Gibbs entered the bullpen.

"Abs-" he held onto her for fear of falling over, "You realize you just saw me like two days ago, right?"

"Yeah, but you're back! You're here! There's a huge difference!" she claimed as she pulled away. "It hasn't been the same without you here."

"She is right, Tony," Ziva smiled from behind her desk. "It has been much quieter."

"I'll make sure to remedy that, as best I can," Tony shot back with a grin as he headed to his desk.

"Welcome back, Tony," McGee smiled from his desk.

"Thank you, McGee," he replied, then his eyes wandered to a man who stood from the other side of the cubicle wall that separated Tim's desk from it. "This the temp?" Tony asked.

"Oh, uh..." McGee stood, "Tony, this is...this is Antonio Berk," he introduced. "Berk, you know who this is," he mumbled before sitting back down.

Tony smirked in Tim's direction at the blatant signs that he didn't much like this guy. He stood as Berk made his way to Tony's desk with a hand extended. "Nice to meet you, Agent Berk," Tony greeted.

"N-no, Sir, the pleasure's all mine," Berk replied, shaking his hand firmly. "You're like a legend at NCIS," he continued. "I mean-" he lowered his head and nervously looked around before meeting Tony's eyes again, "I mean, to me, anyway. I've been following your career since you left BPD. I- I used to work for them...before I came here, that is..."

"You're not here to frame me for anything, now, are ya?" Tony raised a brow.

"W-w-what?" Berk stammered, a frightened look grazing his features. "I-I would n-never do that, Agent DiNozzo...Sir..."

"Calm down, Agent Berk," Tony smirked, amused, and patted the agent's shoulder. "Even I couldn't possibly have that much bad luck in one shot." He turned to sit back down at his desk. "So, how long are you stickin' around this popsicle stand?"

"Um...I uh..." Berk looked over at Gibbs, then back to Tony, "I have a meeting with the director in a minute. Guess I find out then..."

Gibbs' desk phone rang, then. After a few mumbled words, he ended the call and opened his desk drawer, "We've got a missing Navy Lieutenant," he informed them as he retrieved his gun and badge. "Blood found at the scene."

The team scrambled to gather their things, excluding Tony. Gibbs turned to the temporary agent as he fought to zip his backpack up at his chair. "Berk, you stay. Don't wanna miss that meeting with Vance."

Berk hesitated for a moment, his eyes shifting a bit. "Yes, sir..uh Gibbs..." he sat down at his desk as the rest of the team piled into the elevator. His gaze drifted back over to Tony, who had swiveled his chair to face his direction. Tony had his elbows up on the armrests and was tapping a pencil rhythmically against his palm as he looked on, amusingly, at the younger agent.

"Agent Berk," came the stern voice of Director Vance from the staircase. "My office."

11 00 11 00 11

McGee had sent all the information from the scene to Tony before they'd even left to come back. And Tony had been hard at work going over every detail. He'd had every piece of accessible information on the missing Lieutenant, her fellow officers, family and friends, up and ready for reporting. He'd even been able to dig through some financial statements before they'd returned.

"Got something for me, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked with a quirked brow as they entered the bullpen, upon seeing Tony studiously working at the computer.

"Yes, Boss!" he rose, enthusiastically, remote in hand. "Navy Lieutenant Ashley Marie Trelawny; 27, born and raised in Clifton Forge, VA. Serving her eighth year with the Navy, back in her now hometown in D.C, on leave. No kids. No known boyfriend. No family in the area."

"Anything we don't already know?" Gibbs asked as he came to stand beside the agent and look at the screen filled with the Lieutenant's face.

"Guess that depends on what you know, Boss," he smirked, then looked back at the screen. "I've got a list of fellow crew members that were serving with her on the carrier; two of whom were also last seen in D.C. Only one of them isn't answering his phone." Gibbs cocked his head, glancing slightly to his SFA in amazement that he'd accomplished so much in that short period of time. "Meet Lieutenant Gregory Micheals," he said as he pulled the man's picture up on the screen. "They've been on the same assignment for over a year. He put in for leave about a week after Trelawny put in for hers. Made sure it was the same dates, Boss. We could be lookin' at a kidnapping."

"Could they not have simply run off together?" Ziva asked from her position beside Gibbs.

"Blood at the scene would suggest otherwise," Tony said, pulling up the evidential photo. "I also dug into their bank accounts." McGee shot a surprised look at Tony's profile, at that, though Tony didn't see it as he pulled the statements up on the screen. "Micheals made a wire-transfer of two grand about a month ago, right after putting in his request for leave. I traced it to an Officer Brent Smith. Guess who okay'd Micheals' leave request?" he glanced to his boss.

"That's good work, DiNozzo," Gibbs nodded to Tony, then turned to go to his desk.

"Making up for lost time, I see," Tim raised his brows to Tony. "Or maybe I just got used to Berk's inability to figure anything out... What am I supposed to do, now that you've traced everything?"

"You and Ziva go pick him up," Gibbs told him.

"Smith?" Tim verified.

"Well yeah, McGee. We don't know where Micheals is right now, do we?" he looked at Tony.

"No, Boss."

"I'm gonna need an-" McGee started, but Tony handed him a small piece of paper with an address written on it, "Address...alright, then..."


	25. Pushing Your Luck

Their interrogation of Smith had gotten them no where. As far as the Officer had known, Micheals was securing the time so that the two could vacation together. There was no indication of foul-play; no sign that there were any ill feelings or unhealthy obsession from the Lieutenant for Ashley Trelawny. And since the two of them had only been unaccounted for for 24 hours now, technically, there wasn't much to go on.

Still, Gibbs' gut was churning over this one, and Tony could tell. Hell, even Tony's gut was telling him there was more to the story. And that's why he'd been scouring whatever he could come across on the two Lieutenants.

"Time to head out, DiNozzo," Gibbs' voice pulled him from his studious attention on his computer screen, and he glanced up, having to blink a few times just to focus on the man. Gibbs looked ready to leave. Tony glanced around the bullpen, realizing they were they only two left on the floor. "It's getting late."

Glancing out the window at the darkened city, then to the late hour on the clock, he met his boss's eyes again. His intent was to insist he be allowed to stay and finish. But he realized that Gibbs was his ride. With a resigned sigh, he replied, "Right, Boss," and shut off his screen.

"I've got two steaks thawed in my fridge," he told him as Tony packed his things. "You hungry?"

Standing, swinging his pack over his shoulder, he met Gibbs' eyes again, "Sure. Haven't eaten since lunch. Steak sounds awesome."

Gibbs nodded, approvingly, as they started toward the elevator. "We could stop on the way; pick up some potatoes or somethin' to go with it?"

"If you want. But I'll stick with just a steak, tonight. Don't wanna pack on the pounds, sitting at a desk all day," he smirked as they entered the shaft and Gibbs pressed the button.

"Thought you were supposed to walk a bit with Abby after lunch?"

"We both got busy," he retorted. "Figured I could go for a run after work. Maybe a little after we eat-"

"A run?" Gibbs raised his brows at the agent.

"Well...a brisk jog..."

"You're supposed to work your way up to that, Tony."

"I know. And I took the stairs to and from the lab, earlier. Didn't seem to give me much trouble, so I figured I'd-"

"Push your luck?"

"Attempt to do something more," he corrected. "I can tell when I'm gonna get too tired to keep going, Boss," he defended. "It's not like I set my goal too far from my place."

"Well, if you're gonna try anything, I'm goin' with you."

"Come on, Gibbs, I can take care of myself," he let out a small laugh.

"Oh I know that," Gibbs cocked his head.

"Then why do you have to go with me?"

"Way I see it, you're in training," Gibbs told him as they exited the elevator and started toward Gibbs' car. "People in training need a spotter. Sometimes they can push their limits without realizing it. Even if they don't think they will."

"You worried about me?" Tony smirked, raising a brow as they approached the car. Gibbs met his eyes with an amused look on his face, but didn't reply with anything more as he opened his door to get in...

11 00 11 00 11

They'd decided on going for the short run before eating, as it would be a bit colder, the longer they waited to go out. It was just a half-mile out, half-mile back. A mere fraction of what he was normally capable of. But it was still an improvement from what he'd started out from since the poisoning.

As they entered the house upon their return, Gibbs kicked off his shoes. "I'm impressed, DiNozzo," he told him. "You're comin' along."

"Thanks, Boss," Tony replied, still out of breath as he removed his own shoes. "Still have a ways to go, but I'm getting there. Sure could use that steak, now," he said as he followed Gibbs into the kitchen.

"Fireplace should be roarin' by now," Gibbs commented as he grabbed dinner from the fridge. "I'll have 'em ready in no time. Grab some plates, would ya?"

"Sure," Tony went to the cupboard and pulled out two plates. He set them down for the moment, with intentions to grab two forks as well. But his eyes flickered as they fell on the smooth surface of the table. His mind suddenly filled with memories of the nightmare he'd had the night before.

He remembered what Ziva looked like as he held her in his arms; the life leaving her eyes as the poison won out over her body.

He remembered the dread he felt when Withey put a bullet in Tim's head; when he collapsed before him on the floor.

He remembered Gibbs...standing right where he was standing now; the gun aimed right at him...

Tony's chest felt constricted, and the breath he'd been regaining since they'd returned from their run, was quickly reversing. Panic. It was probably the worst thing he could possibly be doing right now, here in Gibbs' house. The last thing he wanted was for Gibbs to find out about his latest problem. But there was nothing more frightening than this feeling he was having in that moment.

To make matters worse, he seemed frozen in place; perhaps waiting for it to go away on its own. After all, it was just a stupid dream! It was stupid to have panicked then, and even more ridiculous to be panicking now, in his completely wakened state of mind! The frustration only seemed to fuel the feeling...

"Ya got those plates, Tony?" Gibbs asked as he headed back into the kitchen. Upon seeing his agent's current state, clearly having trouble breathing normally, and his hand clutching the back of one of the chairs at the table, Gibbs approached him. "You okay?" he asked, with a furrowed brow. Tony met his eyes and Gibbs could see the distress in them. "What's wrong? Tony, what's happening?" he guided him to sit in the chair, gently pulling the clutching hand from its back. As he crouched in front of his SFA, he could hear the wheezing that accompanied his frantic breaths.

"Backpack..." Tony said, once he found his voice.

Gibbs momentarily narrowed his eyes, until he realized what Tony was asking from him. He got up at once, and retrieved the bag from the foyer, quickly returning with it. Tony took it from him and opened the front zipper, reached inside, and fetched the blue inhaler. He clutched it in his fist, as his eyes fearfully met his boss's once more.

"Use it, DiNozzo," Gibbs instructed, unsure of why the agent needed his permission. He observed as Tony shook the container; eyes never leaving Gibbs', though they now seemed to fill with apprehension, and what looked to be the onset of tears. Gibbs pulled up another chair and sat down in front of the younger man as Tony pulled two sprays into his lungs and held it in.

His eyes were closed; brow furrowed as he was clearly putting forth a great amount of effort to keep his breath held...


	26. Confessions

Tony released his breath, and was relieved when he could already feel the medicine begin to work. His embarrassment, however, forced him to keep his eyes clamped closed. After a few long moments, he felt a hand on his back.

"You alright now?" Gibbs asked, softly. Tony mutely nodded, still not opening his eyes. "I'm gonna grab our dinner off the fire," he told him. "You sit tight."

He heard him grab the plates and walk back into the living room, and he cracked open his eyes to watch his retreat. He clamped his eyes closed again, a betraying tear escaping them and attempting to trail down him face. But he swiped it away with a shaky hand, then planted his face in both of them, as his elbows braced on his thighs. "I'm fine, Boss," he mumbled as he heard Gibbs return to the kitchen.

"I know," Gibbs replied as he set the plate down on the counter. "Pushed yourself too hard." Tony heard him cross the room and sit back down in front of him. "You just weren't ready, is all." Tony looked up at him then, meeting his eyes for a moment. If that's what Gibbs believed set off the attack, Tony was willing to live with it. It was a little less embarrassing, and apparently acceptable for his condition. "Don't get discouraged," Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll get there, Tony."

Gibbs watched as Tony's gaze fell back down to his lap. "Thanks, Boss," he said in a small voice. It was clear to Gibbs that his agent was still embarrassed, regardless of whether he should be or not.

"You still hungry?" he asked, trying to change the subject for his sake.

"Yeah," he replied, grateful for the shift.

*~.~*

Half-way through dinner, Gibbs glanced up from his plate at the man sitting across from him at the table. "When did this happen, before tonight?" he asked.

Tony stopped, mid-chewing, then met his boss's eyes, "Whad'ya mean?"

"You were prepared for it; the attack," he verified. "Must mean you were expecting it might happen. And seeing that it hadn't happened at all while you were stayin' here, and I've never once seen that inhaler, I can only assume it had to be sometime between me leaving your apartment yesterday, and pickin' you up this morning."

Tony swallowed the chewed up piece of steak in his mouth. "Ducky told me to bring it to work with me today, just in case I might need it," he told him. "Looks like he was wrong about the when, but right about me needing it," he grinned before returning his attention to the steak on his plate. As he began to slice into the meat, he gave a quick glance to Gibbs, "I've been thinkin' about the Trelawney case."

Gibbs raised a brow as he took a long draw from his bottle of beer. Tony was changing the subject, and Gibbs hadn't missed that fact. But he allowed it for the time being. "What about it?"

"Something strike you as a bit odd about Smith?" he asked before sticking a piece of steak into his mouth. Gibbs cocked his head with curiosity. "I's jus'," he spoke around the mouthful, before pausing to swallow and continue, "Seems like he's hiding something, ya know? Like he knows more than what he tried to make you think he knew..."

"You think he was lyin' about them goin' on leave together?"

"No, not really," he replied as he forked the last bit of meat on his plate. "But I don't think he's quite as clueless about where they are, as he made himself out to be."

"Why didn't you mention this after the interrogation?"

"Well, it was just a feeling, Boss," he defended with a smirk. "I wanted to back it up with something; it's what I was trying to do before we left the office."

"But you didn't find anything," he surmised.

"In my defen'sh," he said with a full mouth, "I was for'shfully pulled away from my objective before I could get anywhere."

"It was your first day back at work in a month," Gibbs defended. "And you were there two hours longer than you needed to be."

"Needed to make up for lost time."

"Well ya did," he nodded. "Ya did good today, Tony. I think even McGee was impressed," he smirked.

"Ha!" Tony smirked. "McGoo wasn't as impressed as much as he was possibly frustrated that I did everything we usually get him to do."

"Or maybe that we do make him do it, when you've been able to this whole time," Gibbs raised his brows.

"I've always been full of surprises, Boss," he grinned.

"I wasn't surprised, DiNozzo," he said as he stood and grabbed both empty plates. "Just sayin' you did good."

Tony's gaze fell to the table-top as Gibbs walked to the sink with the plates. Gibbs had been telling him the truth in the hospital, about believing he was a good agent, even if he was bound to desk-duty...even if it was a permanent thing. Granted, Tony really didn't want this to be permanent. Fact was, Gibbs had been truthful to him. And here he was, not being exactly honest with Gibbs...

Once the water was turned off in the sink, after Gibbs had rinsed the plates, Tony took the opportune silence to speak. "It wasn't the run."

Gibbs turned as he dried his hands on a dishtowel, "What?"

"It wasn't the run that set off the attack... At least, I don't think that was it."

Gibbs set the towel on the counter and came back to the table, sitting in the chair closer to Tony. "What do ya mean?"

Tony took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly, preparing to confess. "This morning...I woke up after a pretty intense nightmare," he began. "And I couldn't breathe; felt like my chest was closing up or somethin'. I called Ducky. He told me to use the inhaler and he came over and checked me out. He said we can't really be sure what it is yet, or if it's just temporary. Maybe asthma or something, brought on by the repeated damage to my lung tissue..."

"You weren't running in your sleep," Gibbs thought aloud.

"No... I wasn't. I was scared, though. I was panicking."

"And here in the kitchen, earlier?"

"The nightmare took place here," he looked down at the table. "Started out with our dinner with the team. Ended with McWithey showing up and killing you all," he swallowed, still upset by the imagery. "I know it's just a stupid dream," he smirked as he looked up at Gibbs again. "It shouldn't have affected me like it did. But it did... and I think, maybe, in addition to the physical exertion, replaying those images in my mind set it off again."

Gibbs considered him for a few moments. "Why weren't you gonna tell me this?"

Tony's eyes shifted, not expecting the question. "W- I..." he stumbled over his words, unable or perhaps unwilling to admit the reality of the answer.

"You were afraid I'd tell you not to come back," Gibbs replied for him. Tony's eyes darted away from his, now; avoiding meeting them. "You didn't believe what I told you in the hospital; thought I was blowin' smoke up your ass?"

"Boss..." he shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to collect himself before meeting Gibbs' again. "I can't lose this job," he said in a low voice. "It's not...just a job to me; it's...everything. If this thing I've suddenly got, is actually asthma, I'm done. I can't be an agent."

"That's not even true, Tony," he narrowed his eyes. "There are medications to prevent attacks. And that's not even the point. I told you you have a place on my team, no matter what. I don't say things I don't mean." When Tony still didn't meet his eyes, Gibbs reached over and tapped under his chin to make him do so. "Don't you trust me?"

Tony furrowed his brow, "'Course I do, Boss. I trust you with my life."

"Then why can't you trust what I'm tellin' you right now?"

Tony's eyes darted back and forth between both of Gibbs' as he pondered that question. When he realized the answer, he had to blink back the sudden stinging that ailed his eyes. "I guess...being scared makes you do stupid things..."

Gibbs held eye contact as he absorbed the raw truth Tony had just given him. Then he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it does. But we'll get through this; you won't be alone. You got that, DiNozzo?"

Tony soon began to noticeably breathe easier. That, really, was the only response his boss needed...


	27. Chasing a Lead

"Boss, there's a hit on one of Lieutenant Michaels' credit cards," McGee spoke up from his desk.

"Where?" Gibbs asked as he fished out his badge and gun from his desk drawer.

"A gas station in Clarksburg, Maryland."

"Let's go," Gibbs told them. "DiNozzo, you call that station; get a description from the cashier. Could be that his card was stolen. Then check if Michaels has any friends or family in that area."

"On it, Boss," Tony replied, going over to Tim's desk as the younger agent left it.

Once the bullpen was empty, aside from Tony, Berk poked his head around the corner, "Aren't you going out of your mind?" he asked, quietly.

Tony looked up from the screen at the agent who then made his way to his desk. "Agent Berk...weren't you transferred?"

"Yeah. Well no, actually. I mean I'll still be here in this building. But I don't transfer over to the other team till tomorrow," he replied. "You avoiding the question?"

Tony narrowed his eyes, "I'm not going out of my mind."

"I mean, sitting here instead of going out in the field...that's gotta suck, right? I mean, for you... That's your thing!"

"My thing is being a part of this team in whatever way I can," he retorted. "And you're making that difficult with your...creepy hovering and your speaking as if you know anything about me."

"But I do know you," Berk insisted. "I know you like...like a 007 fan knows about James Bond,  
he grinned.

Tony cocked his head, looking the agent up and down. "Now you're just sucking up. And that doesn't make any sense to me, seeing as you're not gonna get anywhere on the MCRT."

"Is it a crime to look up to someone?" Berk asked. "Besides, I'm just concerned, is all..."

"There's nothing to be concerned about. I'm not... physically ready to return to field-duty. So I'm doing what I can, here. It's not driving me crazy and I'm not gonna crack under the pressure. But I will start to get aggravated if I can't be let alone long enough to do what I'm supposed to be doing right now."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah. Go get us some coffee. It's gonna be a long night; I can feel it..."

11 00 11 00 11

"DiNozzo," Tony said as he answered his desk phone.

"Go down to see Abby," Gibbs' voice sounded on the other line. "Store manager's sending security camera footage to her right now. They don't have anywhere to playback from here, and I'm not waiting on local PD."

Tony glanced over to Tim's desk and noticed his laptop sitting propped up against the filing cabinet behind it. He smirked, "And McGoo left his computer here. 'Kay, Boss. I'll head down, now."

"I wanna know that it was Micheals, before scouring the city for him. And I want license plates on whatever car he was drivin'."

"Got it. I'll call you back, Boss," he said before ending the call as he made his way to the elevator.

11 00 11 00 11

"You are certain he did not have a woman with him?" Ziva asked the cashier.

"Yeah, he was here alone," he replied. "Came in to pay for his gas, and got a bottle of Aspirin and some water. He looked like he wasn't feelin' very well. I glanced out at his car, but didn't see anyone in the passenger seat."

"Did you happen to see which direction he drove off in?" McGee asked.

"Headed north," he replied. "Nothin' up that way but campgrounds and a bit farther out, some cabins."

Gibbs' phone rang then, and he turned and walked a bit away as he answered. "Yeah. Gibbs."

"It wasn't Micheals, Boss," Tony told him on the other line. "It was Smith. He's got Micheals' card. Car is a rental, and he rented it here in D.C four days ago, when he came in for leave."

"What's he doin' in Clarksburg?"

"Workin' on that," he replied. "I'm going through some...wait," there was a long pause on the other line.

"What is it, DiNozzo?"

"Boss, his family owns a cabin about five miles north of where you are right now."

"Probably where he is, then," he motioned for the others to follow him to the car. "But doesn't explain why he has Micheals' credit card."

"There are a few possibilities that cross my mind... I'll text the cabin's address to McGee's phone."

"Have you eaten?"

"Boss?"

"Simple question, DiNozzo..."

"Haven't thought about it."

"Go get somethin'. Or have Berk go get you somethin'. You're not gonna get any better if you don't eat."

Tony sighed on the other line. "Yes, Boss..."

Gibbs closed his phone as he started the car.

"Boss?" McGee inquired from the back seat as he threw on his seat belt.

"Tony's sending you an address. Let me know where to go."

11 00 11 00 11

"Something's not right," Tony said to himself as he tapped his fingers on the door handle inside Berk's car.

"It's because you're not driving," Berk smirked.

"What?" Tony shot him an incredulous look. "No, you dolt! I mean about Officer Smith. I'm waiting on some info I'm having Abs look into for me..."

"You're supposed to be taking a break. That was the point in you coming with me to get food."

"There's never a break when you're in the middle of a case, Berk," he told him. "Just a change in scenery where you're thinking." Just then, his cell rang. He checked the I.D before answering. "Abs! I was just talkin' about yo-"

"Tony, I've got a medical file that had been buried by Smith's family physician," Abby interrupted. "Everything's blacked out, but Ducky's here looking it over..."

"Anthony," Ducky's voice took over. "From what little I'm able to comprehend of this information, it looks as though the Lieutenant's physician was covering up something that would've prohibited him from being accepted into the Navy."

"What kind of 'something', Ducky?"

"From what little of a description I've come across, and the fact that the Naval physicians would've come across any physical anomalies, I can only surmise that it's psychological in nature. Uh...here, Abigail is taking the phone..."

"Tony, I just pulled up a police record from 2002. Smith was arrested for assault and battery, but the charges had been dropped. There's a laundry list of things like this, sort of...tucked away in his Navy personnel file. He's on a bit of a short leash; in threat of being discharged if there's even one more incident."

"I'd place my bets on him suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder," Ducky chimed in.

"Gibbs is on his way out to this guy's cabin," Tony told them.

"I would call him, and advise them to proceed with caution," Ducky said.

Tony abruptly ended the call and dialed Gibbs' number. After a few moments, he cursed under his breath.

"What is it?" Berk asked. "What's going on?"

"Gibbs' phone's going straight to voice mail. Probably out of range up there in those hills," he said as he attempted McGee's line.

The line clicked and Tony narrowed his eyes as he listened. "McGee?"

Another noise, almost like static, but not quite. "Tony?" his voice was whispered.

"McGee, what's going on?" Tony straightened in his seat.

"Tony, we need-" the line clicked again.

"Tim? Are you there?" he pulled the phone away to look at the screen. The call had ended. Tony looked over at Berk.

"What's going on, man?" the agent asked.

Tony took a few breaths and came to a decision. "We need to go to Clarksburg...now."


	28. Protocol

Leon Vance haphazardly watched the news channel that played on the mounted television in his office, as he went over a file. His eyes glanced over at the time display at the bottom corner of his computer screen. The work day was approaching its end. Well, for the general public, anyway. But in that moment, he got a sudden feeling in the pit of his stomach.

That feeling was soon accompanied by his phone ringing, which surprisingly caused him to jump, just a fraction, in his seat. Sighing, he muted the television via remote, and picked up the receiver. "Vance," he answered. His assistant told him that Agent Berk was on the line for him. "Patch him through." He waited for the click. "Agent Berk, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"Sir, it's my strong belief that Agent Gibbs, McGee and David may be in danger," the agent nervously conveyed.

"On what evidence do you base that belief?" Vance narrowed his eyes.

"As you know, they left on a lead to Clarksburg about an hour ago," he told him, "To follow up on a hit on Lieutenant Micheal's credit card usage. It was discovered that Officer Smith had been the one to use it. Going on information Agent DiNozzo found, the team headed up to a cabin owned by Smith's family, in Clarksburg. Ms Sciuto and Dr. Mallard came across a buried medical file from Smith's family physician, indicating that he may be mentally unstable, Sir. Upon receiving that information, we tried to contact Gibbs. But no one is answering their phones."

"And you think Smith has got Trelawney and Micheals," Vance surmised.

"Yes, Sir."

"Where are you, right now, Agent Berk?"

"In my car, Sir, half-way to Clarksburg. I called you in hopes for some backup."

"Doesn't sound like something you'd so carelessly do," Vance raised a brow.

"With all due respect, Director, my team could be in dire jeopardy. I couldn't just sit back and do nothing."

"They won't be your team after today," Vance retorted.

"No, Sir. But they're still my team right now."

"Is Agent DiNozzo with you?" There was an excessive amount of silence on the other line. "I'll take that as a yes. You know he's not cleared for active field-duty."

"There wasn't time to stop back at the office to drop him off."

"I'm guessing this was his idea, then; to head to Clarksburg without permission?"

"No, Sir. I insisted-" there was a shuffling on the other line, and a moment of silence.

Then Tony's voice took over on the phone, "I'm not letting Berkette, here, take the blame, Director. You wanna write me up for this, feel free. But I'm not wasting five minutes that could very well save their lives, following bullshit protocol."

"You think their lives are at stake, here?"

"I think that I'm not willing to sit around and wait to see if they aren't," he replied. "So, are we making this about me being reprimanded? Or can we get some backup sent out?"

Frustrated, but knowing what needed to be done, Vance let out a short sigh, "I'll send you a team, DiNozzo. And I'll call local PD to meet you out there."

"Already called them," Tony told him. "Told them to approach with caution; check to see if Gibbs is even there. If they go in half-cocked, who knows what could happen? I'm waiting on a return call, but so far, I haven't heard from them or anyone of the team."

"Sounds like you've got this pretty much under control," Vance told him. "Why even call me?"

"Wasn't my idea," he could hear the smirk through the phone.

"Sure it was," Vance retorted. "I doubt you really thought Berk could cover for you. So, if you're so worried about following protocol, why are you also breaking it?"

There was a few moments of silence on the other line. "Because I'm not going out there as an agent, Director. I'm going out there as a friend."

11 00 11 00 11

"Sorry, Boss," McGee said for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. "There's no signal up here, so the GPS isn't picking up to help us navigate..."

"So you have said," Ziva huffed.

"It should be right up ahead," McGee told them. "At least we found the right trail."

"Only because it's the only one we haven't already taken," Gibbs retorted.

Sure enough, the cabin in question appeared in their view before them. Gibbs put the car in park, and they all, gratefully, exited it. Upon seeing Micheals' car, Gibbs signaled for them to split up and take different entrances, silently; stealthily, so as to surprise whomever might be inside.

Gibbs watched as Ziva and Tim split off in separate directions around the cabin. Then he approached the side of it, where there was a sub-level access hatch. Tucking his gun away, he bent down to open it. Inside, it was dark, as expected. He pulled out his mag-light and shined it down into the basement level. But before he could register what he was seeing, he felt a sharp kick against his back; a knowing feeling that whomever had done it, had also managed to snag his weapon. And he was suddenly plummeting into the darkness, until he felt the pain from the sudden stop. Then he was overcome from a completely different kind of darkness...


	29. Expect the Unexpected

Ziva heard the slamming of the hatch doors and made her way back around the house, quickly. The last thing she'd expected, was to see McGee being held from behind with a gun to his head; blood dripping from his temple, where Smith had undoubtedly struck him, first.

"Drop your weapon, Agent David," Smith demanded, "Or he dies."

Her eyes met McGee's for a moment before looking back at Smith's. "And if I drop my weapon, how am I to know you will not simply kill us both?"

"If that's really all I wanted to do, here, I would have shot Agent Gibbs when I had the chance," he replied.

"Where is he?" she asked, still holding her gun.

"Same place you'll be, in a minute. Now drop the damn gun!" he raised his voice.

The look on Tim's face told her that he didn't want her to give in to the demands, but there was no clear shot, and Smith was pressing the barrel harder into his skin. She slowly separated her hands in a surrendering motion, "Why are you doing this?"

"You found me," he told her. "That means I slipped up somewhere, and I haven't had enough time yet. I'm not going to prison... It wasn't my fault; it was an accident..."

"What was?" Ziva pressed as she set her gun on the ground and began to stand again.

Smith cocked his head a bit, "Just get in..."

*~.~*

The hatch doors closed above them, bathing them back into darkness. McGee searched his pockets for his flashlight, but Ziva had hers out before him. "Are you alright, McGee?" she asked, shining the light in his direction.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, shielding his eyes from the beam, then turning on his own light. Coincidentally, his beam hit Gibbs' unconscious form. "Boss!" he scrambled over, as did Ziva. Gibbs groaned as he reentered a wakened state. "Boss, are you okay?" he helped him to sit up.

Gibbs rubbed the ache at his brow, pulling his fingers away to see that it was bleeding. "What happened?" he rasped.

"Smith," Ziva sighed. "It seems that he is behind all of this."

"He must've knocked you down here," McGee continued, "Then clocked me from behind, making me drop my gun, and held me at gunpoint in order to get Ziva to drop hers."

"That is when he forced us down here," she finished.

Gibbs moved to stand, with possibly unnecessary assistance from McGee, and took the younger man's flashlight for a moment, shining it on the ground until he found his own. Tim fetched it from the floor for him, shaking it a bit until it came back on. "So this guy," Gibbs said as they all surveyed the sub-level prison, "Is either really smart, or really out of his mind."

"Perhaps both," Ziva said. "I still have my backup weapons."  
Gibbs glanced at her, using the flashlight to see her face. The he crouched down to check his ankle, "He left mine, too."

"Crazy or not," Tim chimed in, "At least he hasn't killed us."

"Yet," Gibbs said as he began walking through. McGee and Ziva shared a glance...

11 00 11 00 11

"Where's the 5-0?" Tony asked as Berk pulled the car up the long trail toward the cabin.

"Well, we told them not to be obvious," Berk replied. "Guess they're just really good at their job?" he raised a brow.

"They should've called by now..."

"There's no signal up here," Berk argued. "If they've tried to call us at all in the past ten minutes or so that we've been lost, we wouldn't have gotten it."

"Right," Tony's gut kept churning.

"If they're not up here, maybe they checked it out and everything's fine," he suggested.

"I dunno...maybe," he replied. The cabin came into view beyond the trees. "Look," Tony said. "That's the agency car... And there's Smith's rental."

"Think we should park back here?" Berk slowed the car to a stop. "If they're in trouble, it might be better not to let them know we're coming...right?"

"Right. Listen, Berk, I don't have anything but a knife..."

Berk reached over into his glove box and grabbed a pistol from it, checking the clip and loading it back in before handing it to Tony. "Do me a favor?"

"What?"

"If anyone asks, I didn't give that to you..."

Tony smirked, then turned to get out of the car. Once out, he tucked the gun in the back of his pants, and signaled to Berk that they should split up and go around the sides of the cabin...

11 00 11 00 11

"Over here," McGee called out as he pulled a heavy box from high on a wall shelf, down from its place. Behind it was a window.

"Too small, McGee," Gibbs said as he approached.

"Perhaps not, for me," Ziva said as she tucked her flashlight away. "I can hear Smith walking around upstairs. If I can get out, I can surprise him. He should not be a problem. Then I can get you out."

How she'd get them out, was still a mystery. Unless Smith had a ladder somewhere around the cabin, there was seemingly no way out of that basement. No door led to the inside of the house. Just the hatch that led outside. But there were no stairs and it was too far up. Their earlier attempt to put Ziva on Gibbs' shoulders and push it open, had failed. Smith had locked it from the outside, and attempting to bust through it would only ruin the surprise attack.

So, even though Gibbs didn't like the idea of Ziva going it alone, he had to let her try. She could get them out afterward. He nodded to her, then stood behind her as she began her climb up the shelving toward the window.

It was a tight squeeze, but she managed to climb through the small opening. She looked back at her teammates and gave a slight nod, then stood, making her way around the side of the house, quietly. She was startled when she bumped into someone, suddenly on high alert.

"Ziva?"

She looked up and put a hand over her chest as she sighed, letting out a small laugh, "Agent Berk... What are you doing here?" she whispered.

He gave her a small, sad smile, "Family stuff," he told her. Then, without warning, he raised his gun and fired into her chest...


	30. Flicker

Tony rounded the corner of the house right as Berk raised his gun. Too stunned, confused maybe, to shout out, his body jolted and flinched as the shot rang out. "No!" he heard himself yell, still frozen in his place maybe fifty feet away. He held his gun aimed at Berk as he watched Ziva's body, as if in slow motion, collapse to the ground. Berk met his eyes, re-aiming his gun at Tony. "What...what'd you do?" Tony's voice squeaked, disbelieving.

"I'm sorry, Tony," he tilted his head to the side. "I didn't want to...but I know she would've ruined everything, had I not taken that one chance I had to take her out. If only she'd stayed in the basement..."

"What..." Tony shook his head, unable to fathom what had just happened; what Berk was telling him. His eyes fell to Ziva's fallen form, and suddenly he was filled with rage. He squeezed his hand around the butt of the gun and met Berk's eyes again. "Why?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"It was a mistake," Berk shook his head as he spoke, believing that what he'd done was necessary. "I can't let them take away his whole life over a stupid accident."

Tony's eyes kept falling back to Ziva; his chest tightening with heartache as she remained motionless. "Drop your weapon, Berk," his voice cracked as he spoke.

Berk narrowed his eyes for just a moment. "I can't do that," he replied.

"I said drop it! Now!" Tony yelled.

"I can't," he repeated, calmly. "I won't."

"Don't make me shoot you, Berk! As much as I want to right now, don't make me!"

"Do you honestly think I'd have given you a loaded weapon?" he asked. Tony's eyes widened, angrily; angry at himself, mostly, for not having seen this; not having put this together sooner. He pulled the trigger anyway. It fired, but it was clear that they were blanks, as nothing hit Berk. He fired over and over until the clip was empty. By the end of it, his chest was heaving.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. He dropped the useless weapon and struggled against his attacker, to no avail.

"Cool it, DiNozzo," Smith's voice sounded in his ear, "Or you'll end up like your friend."

"Godamnit!" he yelled as he continued to try and squirm out of his grasp. "I'll kill you! Both of you!"

Berk shook his head as he unfastened the lock on the hatch door. "Just calm down, man," Berk told him. "It'll all be over, soon. Just gotta sit it out while we set everything up. I'm sure someone will be along to find you eventually."  
"Yeah," Smith added. "Maybe it'll be before the house goes BOOM!" he laughed, and with Berk's help, forced Tony to the opening.

"I really am sorry about this, Tony," Berk said before the violently shoved him into the basement and closed the hatch...

*~.~*

McGee and Gibbs had stood, frozen, at the sound of multiple gunshots. There was nothing they could do...no way they could know what was going on out there. But they knew there had been at least two different guns involved.

Then they heard it, somewhere near the hatch they'd been thrown in through earlier. Shouting. And it only took a moment to realize that it was Tony's voice they were hearing. They shared a glance and moved back toward it. Maybe the shots fired were from a team of agents Tony had brought to rescue them. He'd probably figured all of this out at some point after Gibbs had driven them into the reception-less area.

The basement was suddenly bathed with the dimming light from outside. They both watched helplessly as Tony's body was tossed into their prison, and the hatch re-closed.

"Tony!" Gibbs scrambled for him as McGee held the flashlight so they could see him.

Tony coughed, "Boss?" his voice squeaked as he was helped to sit up.

"Tony, what happened?" he asked. "Where's Ziva?"

Tony's face scrunched up in anguish, and Gibbs realized that he was wheezing with his struggled hyperventilation. "Berk..." he told him. "Berk ...shot her!" his breathing kicked up even more. "He's...in on it... He...he's gonna...kill us all..."

"Calm down, Tony," Gibbs took his face in his hands, heart sinking at the trail of wet tears that spilled down the younger agent's face. "You've gotta calm down and breathe, okay?"

Tony shook his head, "Can't..." he wheezed.

"Yeah, ya can. And ya will," he told him. "Didn't bring your inhaler, did you," he surmised.

He shook his head again, letting out a sound resembling a sob, "Was in the...car with...Berk. Getting food...didn't know..."

"Okay. It's okay, DiNozzo. You can do this," he told him.

"Can't..." he repeated.

"I'm gonna help you," Gibbs told him.

McGee stood, frozen in panic, as he watched the display. Gibbs moved them to the wall, sitting back against it, and pulling Tony's back against his chest. "Boss? What's wrong with him?" Tim asked.

Gibbs merely met his eyes, sharing the fact that he, too, was in as much a state of panic for their teammate. "Tony, you pay attention to how I'm breathing. You hear me?"

Tony let out another sob as he nodded. But the tightening in his chest only seemed to worsen. The panic doubled and he feared he might suffocate.

"You just try and follow mine, okay? Just feel it, and try to copy it...You can do this, DiNozzo," he coached. Wrapping his arms around Tony, he pressed his hands against his chest, as if he could will them to relax, but mostly so that his own chest pressed to his back, and Tony could feel the expanding and release of each breath.

McGee felt useless, other than his job as keeper of the only source of light. He sank down to the floor in the corner, leaning back against the wall as he faced them. He wasn't sure if it was empathy, but he suddenly found it hard to breathe, himself, as he watched his mentor's struggle.

Tony's hands clenched and unclenched, absentmindedly, at Gibbs' pant-legs that sat on either side of him. His own legs squirmed in front of him; as if he were under water, weighed down, trying to swim his way back up to the surface so that he could draw in the much needed air. McGee supposed that's exactly what he probably felt like, right now.

It was hard to keep the stinging tears at bay, as he watched Tony's drain, shamelessly, down his cheeks. Gibbs was talking to him in a soothing voice; trying to walk him through the torture; draw him out of the spell.

That's when the light started to flicker and dim on what had been Gibbs' flashlight before Tim had picked it up earlier. He'd kept it, without even thinking twice about it. And now it was dying. He shook it; banged the side of it, in attempt to keep it alive. But then it was dark...

It was dark...and they were left with the painful sounds of Tony's struggle, and the light murmuring of Gibbs' voice.

McGee closed his eyes...and prayed...

11 00 11 00 11

Ziva took in a breath, her chest burning with a deep ache. It took her a few moments as she cracked open her eyes, to realize that she was laying, face down in the grass. She stifled a painful groan as she pushed herself over onto her back and looked down at herself.

The front of her shirt was covered in blood. It was then that she remembered what Berk had done. And she couldn't understand how she was still alive, or if she was even.

Slowly, she pushed herself up from the ground, determining that she could, in fact, stay on her feet. She pulled out her gun and stealthily made her way toward the back entrance...


	31. Two Down

The darkness had grown eerily quiet, and for some reason, that hadn't quenched McGee's anxieties at all. "Boss?" he whispered. He heard a rustling coming from Gibbs' direction, then a click, followed by a beam of light that traveled across to his side of the room.

Tim pushed himself up off the floor and carefully made his way over to them. Tony was motionless, slumped back against Gibbs' chest; his head lolled to the side. Tim crouched down beside them, meeting Gibbs' eyes for a moment before looking at Tony. He could still hear the wheezing, though a great deal weaker than before. "I didn't know he was asthmatic," he whispered.

"He's not been properly diagnosed," Gibbs replied as quietly. "Started happening after he got out of the hospital last. He's got an inhaler, but I'm pretty sure that got left behind. I checked his pockets, and there's nothin'."

"If that's really what it is, he needs to get treatment...He could die. Even though he seems better right now, he's not. I think he's just passed out."

"Ya think?" Gibbs gave a slightly annoyed grunt, though he wasn't angry. Just afraid for his agent. "Help me lay him down. We need to get him outta here, and apparently we're back to square one."

As Tim assisted him in gently laying Tony down, he let that statement work through his thoughts, and the burning facts that Tony had told them upon his arrival...Ziva had been shot. By Berk. If Ziva had been shot and not thrown back down here, that could only mean one thing. And he was pretty sure Gibbs knew that, too.

There was also a huge likelihood that if Tony had convinced Berk to let him come along, then Vance didn't know about it. So there was probably no help coming. And last, but not least, Tony had told them that they'd intended on killing them all.

So, yeah...things were looking a bit grim.

Gibbs had taken off his jacket, rolled it up and put it under Tony's head, as the senior agent lie on his side on the floor. Then Gibbs and McGee stood and began to look around once more. And that's when they heard it...

A gunshot, and what sounded like a body hitting the floor. Then another shot. Another thump. Then silence.

As the two agents shared a glance, they both could only think one thing; Smith had executed Micheals and Trelawney...

11 00 11 00 11

Ziva stood, shakily, with her gun still aimed in front of her. Berk and Smith were dead on the floor across the room. Lieutenant Micheals was tied up in a chair in the kitchen, unconscious but alive.

On the table, Ziva had discovered an explosive with a timer, which she'd managed to disable before being discovered. Her next move would have been to untie Micheals and then head outside to free her friends. But she was growing lightheaded and numb.

She knew it was most likely from blood loss. Maybe also the fact that it had become increasingly difficult to breathe. She set her gun down on the table and nearly collapsed into the chair, letting out a shaky breath before looking down at herself. Her jacket was bloody. She picked up trembling hands to remove it. The blouse she wore underneath was soaked in blood, sticking to her skin.

She reached down to the bottom hem of the shirt and carefully lifted it. The pain that shot through her like anew, she didn't know whether it was from the movement, or the removal of the cloth that had shifted to stem the blood flow. But she hissed when she saw the wound, and the clearly broken rib beneath bruised skin. The hole oozed blood freely now and she scrambled for a rag from the table top and pressed it to herself with a cry she hadn't meant to let out.

Suddenly, she heard the front door kicked in and her eyes shot toward it, though the movement made her dizzy. She squinted at the blurry figures that poured into the house, one coming directly at her.

"Agent David!" the male voice was familiar. When he was close enough, she could see that it was Director Vance. "Ziva, what happened?"

"Berk...was a traitor..." she was surprised at her own weakened voice. "Working with..."

"Yeah, I figured that out once I did a little digging," he told her. He turned his head, "Tell the medics to come up!" he shouted to his agents, then turned back to her and replaced the fallen cloth to her wound, since her hand had dropped, possibly unknowingly to her. "Smith was his cousin," he told her. "I'm not sure what all happened, but if he hadn't let that information out to you all, it couldn't have been good. We got here as soon as we could."

"Gibbs...McGee...basement..."

"What about DiNozzo?"

Ziva's face twitched in confusion as she met his eyes, "Tony?" came out as a whisper.

"He was in the car with Berk on the way here. Didn't you see him?"

Ziva's gaze drifted off. A hundred thought ran through her head. She hadn't seen Tony. Did that mean Berk had gotten rid of him before coming up here? Had he shot him in the car? Tony wasn't on field-duty right now; his gun wouldn't have been with him. And he'd been considerably more weak than his normal self. Would he have been able to defend himself?

Berk had gotten the jump on her; caught her off-guard. She hadn't been expecting him to turn on her. Had Tony been tricked as well?

"Ziva?" She heard Vance calling to her, but the world began to slip away. "Agent David, can you hear me?" She couldn't hold her head up any longer, and she lowered it to the table before everything became dark. "Where the hell are those medics?" Vance shouted. And she heard no more...


	32. Breaking Rule Six

Gibbs sat beside Tony's bed in the ER at Shady Grove Adventist Hospital. He'd been checked over, himself, and had a bandage over the cut on his brow. Tony was unconscious, but receiving a breathing treatment. The doctors said he would be fine; that he'd had a panic-induced attack and that his loss of consciousness was his mind's way of shutting it down before it became even worse.

Gibbs was more concerned that he still hadn't woken up. Though it'd only been about fifteen minutes since they'd arrived at the hospital, seeing Tony with yet another breathing device on him, caused him to think back on all those weeks he'd been at Bethesda...

He was glad when Vance had informed him that Ducky was on his way. In reality, there was much more to be worried about besides his second in command. But he couldn't be where Ziva was right now.

"Boss?" came the muffled voice of Tony, through the oxygen mask over his face.

Gibbs looked over, leaning forward in his chair, and put a hand on the agent's arm, "Welcome back, DiNozzo," he gave him a small smirk.

Tony's eyes glanced around the room, "Hospital?"

"Yep."

"Not Bethesda..."

"This was closer. Couldn't hold off long enough to get back to D.C."

Tony swallowed, audibly, as he pushed himself up a bit on the bed so he was more sitting up, and pulled the mask from his face, "That bad?" he asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes, "What do you remember?" he asked as he stood and shifted the mask back over Tony's face where it belonged.

Tony's eyes darted around a bit, then a look of saddened realization hit him, and he was pulling the mask off again as he met Gibbs' eyes, "Ziva..."

"Is not as bad off as you made out to think," he finished for him, once again returning the mask to its place. Tony looked at him with question. "She wasn't killed by that gunshot," he told him.

"But I saw her drop..."

"Bullet hit her rib," Vance's voice sounded at the curtain-wall. They both looked over to him, his brows raised in silent asking of permission to enter and give them whatever information he'd been told by the doctor. Gibbs nodded, and he walked the short distance to the bed. "The rib snapped, punctured her left lung. They've got her stabilized enough for surgery to try and find where the bullet ended up. But wherever it is, the rib changed its trajectory. If it hadn't it could've very well ended up in her stomach. Or worse; her heart."

"She's alive..." Tony confirmed, sagging back against the bed in relief. Then he picked his head back up, tearing the mask from his face, "Berk! He did this!"

"Calm down, DiNozzo," Vance raised a hand. "When I got to the house, Ziva had already taken him and Smith out. Not to mention, defused a bomb they'd rigged to go off and kill the Lieutenant."

"Trelawney's alive?" Tony asked.

"Micheals, actually," Vance told him. "Trelawney's dead. Found her in the trunk of Smith's rental. As soon and Micheals is medically cleared, we'll get a statement from him; see what happened. But from what we've gathered so far, it looks like her death had been accidental. Whatever set Smith off, I can't be sure."

"Berk said...he couldn't let him get put away over an accident..." Tony said as he recalled his words.

"Smith was his cousin," Vince told him. "After Berk called me, I had a gut feeling something was up with him. Checked his phone records; found several calls made to him from Smith. Did a little digging and found out they were related. I'd expected to see PD when we got to the cabin..."

"Apparently, Berk 'fake-called' them," Tony sighed and shook his head in disgust. "I can't believe I didn't see through him. If I hadn't insisted on showing up..." his gaze drifted off to the side. "Had I not brought him there, Ziva could've pulled off that rescue without being shot."

"This isn't your fault, DiNozzo," Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"He's right about that, for once," Vance said, raising a brow. Gibbs shot him a glare, only allowing the 'for once' part to slide because of the nature of what he was saying. "It was Berk's intention to go up to that cabin, with or without you. But my guess is that he wanted to bring you with him."

"He insisted on my going with him to get food," Tony thought out loud.

"More than likely, he wanted to be able to keep an eye on you. Or in this case, an ear. Had you been at the office, you might've figured him out sooner than I had. He knew that."

Tony looked at Vance in morbid surprise, "I'm not dying, am I?" Vance raised a brow and glanced at Gibbs, who had a slight smirk on his face in no particular direction. "It's just...thought I heard you compliment me..."

Vance tried his best to stifle his own amusement. "Not fit for field-duty yet, obviously. But no, I don't think you're dying, Agent DiNozzo." He turned to Gibbs, then, "I'm gonna head back to the Yard with the bodies. Keep me informed on Ziva's condition."

Gibbs nodded and watched the director leave the room. Then he turned back to Tony, who still seemed a bit confused by Vance's sudden niceness. He stepped closer and grabbed the mask from Tony's hand and placed it back on his face. "Leave the damn thing on, will ya?" he raised his brows.

Tony met his eyes. "Love you, too, Boss," he smirked.

11 00 11 00 11

"Your O2 stats are looking good, Agent DiNozzo," the doctor told him. Gibbs had left for coffee, just moments before the man arrived. "There's someone waiting to see you, by the name of Tim McGee. I wanted to get your okay before sending him in."

"Yeah, he's my partner," Tony told him. "Hey, can this thing stay off, now?" he asked, holding the mask.

"I think that'd be okay. In fact, I'm gonna go ahead and start writing up your discharge papers. But I want you to go and see your primary doctor when you get back to D.C."

"No problem, Doc. Thanks," he sat up a bit more comfortably. The doctor shimmied out through the curtain, and within moments, McGee stepped in. "Hey, McConcussion!" he grinned. "How's your head?"

His initial nervousness upon entering, dissipated at Tony's words, and he stepped all the way in. "It's fine. I'm still a little lightheaded, but it's not like I'm gonna be driving," he smirked. "How are you?" his face re-etched with a bit of concern, remembering the terrifying experience in the basement.

"About to be discharged," he replied.

"Why didn't you tell me?" his hand grabbed hold on the bed rail. "I would've kept extra on me, just in case."

"What?" Tony furrowed his brow in question.

"Your medicine," he clarified. "I would've made sure..." his sentence tapered off at the slightly confused look on Tony's face as it changed into something akin to fascination at the touching sentiment of thoughtfulness; something Tony wasn't used to receiving an abundance of.

Just as quickly, though, he pasted on a cocky grin, "McBoyscout; ever prepared." But the grin faded again and he swallowed. "It's not for forever, Tim," he told him. "It can't be," he shook his head. "This is just...part of the recovery, I'm sure. And I wasn't even supposed to be out in the field. So, if you're for some reason feeling guilty about what happened, just stop. If anyone should be feeling guilty or stupid, it's me, for not seeing through Berk."

"This isn't about guilt, Tony," he retorted with a bit of punch. "You could've died down there. I've had it with watching my friends come close to death over and over," he forced himself to stop when his voice cracked near the end, and he looked down somewhere on the bed.

Tony appraised the agent beside him for a moment. "Don't tell Gibbs," he said, and McGee's eyes shot to his in question. "I'm about to break rule six," he smirked, shortly, then continued, "I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't want anyone to think I couldn't eventually do my job again." McGee shook his head. "But you're right; I should've told you. If the roles were reversed, I'd be pissed at you, too."

"I'm not pissed at you," McGee said, quietly.

"Yeah, ya are. You just haven't interpreted it that way, yet," Tony retorted with a slight smirk. Then he looked down at his hands, perhaps a bit of embarrassment showing itself on his face. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

"Couldn't have been much more terrifying than what you were going through," Tim replied. Tony met his eyes again, then let out a small, breathy laugh. "You should probably stop breaking the rules before Gibbs gets back," he smirked.


	33. Who's Driving?

Tony came out of the curtained off ER room with McGee and headed toward the O.R waiting room to find Gibbs speaking with Ducky. The two older men had seen them coming, from the corner of their eyes, and turned as they approached.

"Is there any word on Ziva?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Ducky replied. "I just came from speaking with the surgeon. They were able to locate the missing bullet. It had, somehow, innocently lodged between the outer wall of her stomach tissue and sternum. It caused no damage, by some small miracle. The most damage was done when her rib punctured her lung. But they were able to repair it and re-inflate. But of more greater concern had been the amount of blood loss. She's in the process a receiving a transfusion, as we speak. I was just telling Jethro that they're preparing her to be transported to Bethesda, now that she's stable. She'll be ready to go within the hour."

"So she's gonna be okay?" he verified.

"She'll make a full recovery," Ducky assured him. "And I'm very grateful that you managed not to cause yourself any further damage, Anthony. I was fearful when I received word that you'd had another attack, and didn't have your inhaler with you."

"Afraid for me?" Tony narrowed his eyes. "After hearing about Ziva? Hell, I thought she was dead before she even hit the ground, out there," he blinked rapidly. "The last thing you should've been worried about was me. By the time you'd gotten word, I was here being treated."

"I was equally worried about the both of you," Ducky narrowed his eyes, then took a step toward the younger man so that he was close enough not to have to speak very loudly. "Tell me, Anthony; do you honestly have such a low opinion of yourself, that you believe I shouldn't have warrant to be worried for your well-being?"

For a moment, he was a bit flustered as to how to respond. But then he pulled out an breathy laugh, "What?" he cocked his head. "I...I was only trying to say that Ziva's condition's a bit more serious than mine..." Ducky seemed to study his face for another moment, and Tony felt under the microscope, suddenly, and glanced around at his colleagues who seemed to be studying him as well. "Really, guys... Can we get back to Ziva, please?" he raised his brows and tried to brush them off with a faked smile.

"I'll be riding back with Ziva in the ambulance transport," Ducky said, turning back to Gibbs. "The rest of you should head back to D.C. I'm sure, once she's settled in at Bethesda, there will be time for visiting." Then he had a sudden revelation, "On second thought, perhaps I should drive you back...Maybe one of you could ride with Ziva?"

"Why do you need to drive us?" Gibbs asked, cocking his head.

"Well, if you've forgotten, Jethro, you and Timothy both have mild concussions. And Anthony isn't cleared to drive yet, as you well know. So before you object," he raised a hand when Gibbs prepared to argue, "Just save it. I'll drive, and you can ride back with Ziva..."


	34. Going Home

They were nearly halfway to D.C. Tony sat up front with Ducky. Tim was in the back seat, leaning heavily against the door. He was quiet. Tony was quiet, too. But that's only because Ducky was talking...pretty much consistently.

The way the rear-view mirror was angled for Dr. Mallard, gave Tony the ability to see Tim slumped against the door in the back seat. Something in his gut told him to keep checking him. The kid hadn't so much as said two words since they'd pulled onto the highway. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the window; not out of it.

About the eighth glance, he noticed him pale, considerably. His face became pinched. Tony turned around in his seat, "You okay there, McGee?" he asked. Tim momentarily met his eyes, then shut his own and let out a nearly inaudible groan. "Pull over, Ducky," Tony said.

"What?" the doctor questioned.

"Just pull over!" he repeated, sternly.

Ducky did as he was instructed, glancing briefly at McGee in the rear-view as Tony's eyes seemed to be fixed there. He suddenly understood the order.

Tim stumbled out of the car before Tony had a chance to help him. He got a few meters from the open door before gripping the side-rail, lurching over, and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the grass on the other side.

Tony grimaced as he approached his friend and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Better?"

Tim took a few breaths, then nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem. Not like I haven't seen the warning signs from you before, right?" he gave him a small smile as he looked over at him. "You okay? Should we bring you back?"

"I'm fine. Just from the concussion, I'm sure."

"Right."

"Here, Timothy," Ducky approached with a bottle of water.

"Thanks," McGee accepted it and rinsed his mouth out before spitting the water over the railing.

"I'll wait in the car," Ducky told him. "It's not too much farther until we're back."

Tony watched Ducky go back to the car, then turned back to Tim. "You ready to go? Or do you need some more time out here?" he asked.

"I think I'm okay, now," he replied, then turned to face him. "Thanks for not giving me a hard time about this."

Tony suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt. "I'm sorry I gave you a hard time before."

"It's okay..."

"No, it's not," he retorted. "I have a tendency to respond to certain situations in the same way my..." he stopped, swallowed as he turned his gaze away for a moment. This was personal information, but he needed Tim to know why he was the way he was, sometimes. "The same way people would respond to me in those situations," he settled on. "I guess ya kinda pick up things, regardless if you ever liked how it felt, and adopt it as your own, because you don't really know any other way to respond..."

McGee studied his friend for a moment. "Well, you did a pretty good job, this time," he gave him a small smile. "It's a little concerning, actually...you being nice."

"Gee, thanks, Probie," he made a face.

Tim laughed, "Only because it's few and far between, Tony," he clarified. "But it's definitely appreciated. So, thank you..."

11 00 11 00 11

The first thing Ziva noticed as she slipped back into consciousness, was the fact that she could breathe again. The second, was the pain. It wasn't horrible, but enough to let her know that she was, in fact, still alive. The fact that the pain wasn't horrible, led her to her third realization, that she was on some sort of pain medication. Which ultimately brought her to her final conclusion, before even opening her eyes for verification, that she was in the hospital.

"Ziva?" Gibbs' softened voice sounded beside her, and she opened her eyes. "You with me?" She nodded. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," she replied, ashamed of how weak her voice sounded.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

She nodded again. She recalled each moment, leading up to Vance talking with her at the table. Which brought her back to the question she'd pondered before losing consciousness. The monitor beside her began to beep a little more rapidly, showing her heart rate climb a bit with anxiety.

"What is it?" Gibbs asked, laying a hand over hers. "What's wrong? You in pain?"

"Tony," she said, meeting his eyes again. "He was with Berk...I did not see him..."

Gibbs saw the apprehension in her eyes and realized what she must have assumed. "Tony's okay," he told her. "We all are. Although, you got the worst of it, and for that, I'm sorry."

She relaxed a bit; heart rate returning to normal. "You are breaking your own rule, Gibbs," she smirked at him. "I am not sorry. If I had not gone out there, we would all be dead. Director Vance would not have made it in time to defuse the bomb."

Gibbs smiled at her, laying a hand on her forehead and brushing back the stray hairs, "You did good," he told her. "I'm real proud of you, Ziver."

"I was trained for things like this, Gibbs," she raised her brows.

"Doesn't change anything," he retorted. "You were shot at point blank range, got back up, and did what you did... They can't train you for that."

"I did what I needed to do to save my team," she replied. "My friends."

His mouth curved up on one side and he leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead. Ziva closed her eyes in that moment, relishing in the fact that this man, who was more of a father to her than her own ever was, actually cared for her. She opened her eyes again when his mouth left her skin, and she met his eyes.

"So," she sighed, "What damage did the bullet do?"

"Broke your rib," he told her. "Then your rib punctured your lung. They patched you up, though. You lost a lot of blood, but they gave you a transfusion. You should be outta here by tomorrow or the day after, Ducky says."

"Everyone else is fine?" she verified.

"Now that you're doin' better," Tony's voice sounded from the doorway, and Ziva looked over. Though Gibbs had assured her that he was alright, seeing him relieved her greatly. He smiled as he approached the bed, "Ducky's dropping McGee off at his apartment. He wanted to come see you, but he's not feeling too well. Nothing to worry about though. Just some concussion-related stuff... Ducky should be by later." He took her free hand in his, "How are you feeling?"

"I am well," she smiled up at him. "And I am glad you are all well. I was...worried...when Vance told me that you had come up with Berk to the cabin."

"Well, no need to worry," he pasted on a grin, which faded way too quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't see it...I'm sorry I led him up there, Zi. You would've done fine, had I not shown up."

"You could not have known," she squeezed his hand. "None of us did. It is part of the reason I let my guard down. But that is not of importance anymore. He is dead, and we are alive."

"Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way," he smirked, then leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"You would have done the same for me," she replied, softly. "In fact, you have. All of you," she said, then looked over at Gibbs...


	35. Dinner Conversation

"You're sure he's okay?" Tony spoke to Abby over the phone. He and Gibbs had been given a lift back to Gibbs' house from the forensic goth not more than an hour ago, and she'd headed over to look in on McGee.

"Yeah, he's fine," she assured him. "We're having dinner. No more nausea. He's got a little bit of a headache, but other than that, he's doing okay."

"Okay... I guess I'm just over-thinking it," Tony admitted. "I've had this weird feeling in my gut. Just wanna make sure there's nothing wrong."

"Aw, Tony, that's so sweet of you to be looking in on Timmy," she cooed. "He said how nice you were to him on the way home from the hospital. I had to double-check to make sure you hadn't hit your head, too."

"Gee, thanks, Abs," he smirked.

"I'm kidding, Tony," he could hear her smile through the phone. "I'm gonna stay here, tonight. If anything happens, he won't be alone."

That relieved the agent greatly. "That's a good idea. Let me know if anything does, okay?"

"Absolutely. Now, go make sure Gibbs is taking care of himself, too, Mister!"

"I'm makin' us something to eat, as we speak," he told her. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. G'nite, Abby."

"'Night," she said before the call disconnected.

"Checkin' in on McGee?" Gibbs asked as he entered the kitchen.

Tony glanced back at him from his spot in front of the stove, "Yeah. Just wanted to make sure he wasn't still sick," he told him.

Gibbs nodded and approached his side, "Whatcha makin'?"

"Chicken Milanese," he said as he turned the cutlets over in the pan. "When I was a kid, we used to have this a lot. Only, then, I didn't like anything but the chicken part," he smirked. "But as an adult, I've found my tastes rather enhanced... After all, it's just some fried up breaded chicken without the other stuff."

"And what's the other stuff?" Gibbs asked as Tony went to a bowl on the counter beside the stove, and tossed the ingredients a bit more.

"Uhhh...salad greens, cannellini beans, grape tomatoes...a little onion...salt, pepper...olive oil...It's actually pretty good on top of the chicken."

Gibbs glanced around the counter, noting the other bowls. Egg shells sat in an empty container, and one of the bowls had a bit of panko bread crumbs still in the bottom. Tony had literally done it all from scratch. "Where'd you get all this stuff?" he queried.

"I had Abs bring it over from my place," he replied. "I'd planned on making this tonight, anyway. Good thing I had enough for two," he grinned.

"Oh, I get to have some of this?" Gibbs raised his brows.

"Of course, you do," Tony shot him an incredulous look. "You're joking, right?"

Gibbs smirked, "A little, I suppose. Never assume." Tony smiled and turned back to the stove. "You need any help?"

"Actually, if you can grab two plates..." he requested, and Gibbs went to the cupboard to grab them. Tony felt a bit honored when he pulled out actual dishes instead of paper plates. "Just set them on the counter here," he motioned nearby the bowl of ingredients. "Thanks." Gibbs moved to get forks, and opened the fridge to find something for them to drink. "Traditionally, I'd suggest wine or beer to go with this," Tony said, knowing what he was eying. "But seeing as you've had a concussion, we should probably stick to water."

Gibbs cocked his head and grabbed two bottles from the fridge. "You wanna eat at the table?"

"We can eat on the couch, if you want," Tony said. "It's just another dinner, Boss," he smirked.

Gibbs watched him put the chicken in equal portions on the plates, then top them with the mixture from the bowl. He headed into the living room as Tony grabbed both plates and followed. "Thanks," Gibbs said as he handed him one of the plates as they sat.

"I'm happy to do it," he replied, setting his plate down and cutting into the chicken with the side of his fork.

Gibbs mimicked the action and tasted a bite of the concoction. "Not bad, DiNozzo," he remarked.

Tony let out a small laugh around his mouthful of food, "Gotta be good for something, right now, don't I?"

Gibbs swallowed down the immediate need to retort against Tony's self-demeaning comment. Instead, he cut into his food again. "Ya know, I've been thinkin' pretty hard about this," he began. "Berk would've gone up to the cabin, whether you were with him or not. There's a pretty big chance that if you hadn't, he could've gotten away with everything."

Tony shot him a look, "How do you figure?" he narrowed his eyes, then turned back to his plate.

"For starters, we wouldn't have known he was a traitor, if you hadn't told us."

"Yeah, ya would have," he retorted. "Ziva would've told you. Either way, he's dead."

"If they hadn't been distracted with stuffin' you into that hatch, he might've thought to double-check to make sure Ziva was actually dead," he replied. Tony paused in his cutting up the food. "And if he'd done that, we'd all be dead right now. Smith and Berk would be free men. Berk wouldn't even have to be running."

"Yes, he would have," Tony said in a low voice. "I would've figured him out... Then I would've killed him."

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence...


	36. Planted Thoughts

Berk left to pick up some dinner, after failing at convincing Tony to come along. It'd been about fifteen minutes, and Tony was feeling indescribably tired.

He decidedly pushed up from his desk and headed down to Abby's lab.

"Hey, Tony," Abby bounced as he entered. "I'm glad you're here! I've found something about Smith."

"And I believe it's cause for concern," Ducky's voice sounded from beside her.

"What is it?" Tony asked as he approached.

"Smith's medical file," Ducky replied.

"It was actually buried," Abby added. "It's old...like, before he joined the Navy. And he'd had it hidden."

"Why?"

"I believe, because if they'd seen these records, he'd not have been accepted," Ducky told him. "This man is psychologically unstable."

"And he's got a track-record with the Navy, already, to back that up," Abby said, pulling up the file on her screen. "There's been all kinds of incidents, eventually somehow dismissed, of assault, anger management issues, etc... I don't know how he's been getting away with this, honestly."

"Have you called Gibbs with this?" Tony asked.

"Well, I was just about to call you," Abby told him.

"Gibbs is headed up to this guy's cabin, right now," Tony told her, pulling out his phone. "Not that he can't handle Smith...but he should be warned." After dialing, the phone went straight to voice mail, without even ringing.

"Uh, Tony?" Abby said. "If they're already up there, there's a chance they don't have reception," she said, opening the map on her screen. "It's just out of range of any towers."

Tony felt his gut churn, uncontrollably. "I shouldn't worry... I shouldn't be worried, right?" he looked to his colleagues. "I'm a little worried, here..."

"Perhaps, you can call the Clarksburg police department and have them go up there, just to relay the message, and make sure that everything is, indeed, alright?" Ducky suggested.

"If it's not, their presence could make the situation worse," Tony replied. "And if it is okay, Gibbs will be pissed."

"Better safe, than sorry..."

Tony's cell rang in his hand, causing him to jump. He turned from his colleagues and answered, "DiNozzo."

"I need to speak with you," Vance's voice sounded on the other line.

"What a coincidence, Director," Tony replied, nodding to Abby and Ducky before heading out of the lab and to the stairwell. "I'm trying to get a hold of Gibbs-"

"That's actually what I was gonna speak to you about," he interjected. "I just got a call from Agent Berk. He's on his way to Clarksburg now. He seems to think your team is in danger."

"Why does he think that?" Tony asked.

"Something about Smith possibly being unstable."

"Oh...Abby must've called him..."

"He's calling Clarksburg PD to head up there, just in case. He told them to do it subtly, so as not to provoke him if he's right."

"He's going this alone? You think that's wise, Sir?"

"He wouldn't back down, Agent DiNozzo. And I can't say that I blame him. He's worried about the team, just as you'd be if you were in his position."

"Call me crazy, but I've got a feeling about this...I'll get back to you," he said, then ended the call. He exited the stairwell and quickly headed into the bullpen and to his desk. Then he glanced over to Tim's, and decidedly relocated there. He had a feeling...and he needed to follow it.

Pulling up Berk's phone records, he pulled out his own phone and dialed Abby. She picked up immediately. "Abs, why'd you call Berk before telling me?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "I don't even like that guy..."

"You're telling me you didn't tell him about Smith's record?"

"No...Wait, does he know?" she asked, and Tony could hear her clicking away on her keyboard. "Oh my god, Tony! There's a tracer on Smith's info! You think he knew this already and withheld the information?"

"I think it's a little more than that..." he replied as he looked at all the calls in and out of Berk's line...from Smith.

*~.~*

"This is Director Leon Vance with NCIS," Vance spoke into his phone as he drove himself and Tony and two other agents in the back seat, onto the highway. "I need to know if you received a call from one of my agents in the past half hour."

Tony swallowed, awaiting some signal on Vance's face as to the answer.

"Damnit...We've got a problem..." Vance continued, giving the address to the dispatcher and telling them to proceed with caution; that they'd be there as soon as possible.

Time seemed to flash forward, and they were soon pulling onto a narrow dirt road. Tony's heart leaped in his chest when he saw smoke billowing from somewhere behind the trees...much more than would come from a chimney...

"No no no no no..." Tony panicked as they pulled up, seeing the cabin reduced to nothing but rubble. Fire trucks were still dowsing the structure; police cars scattered about as officers worked the scene. One of them approached their vehicle as they got out. But Tony ignored them and ran toward the wreckage.

He heard his name being shouted behind him, but he wouldn't look back. Gibbs' company vehicle sat in front of this wreck... His heart sank. Frantically, he looked around, finding an ambulance beside the building. He ran up to one of the paramedics.

"Did you find anyone? Any survivors?" he asked.

"Sir...we've found one body, so far," he told him. "She was outside the structure, just there," he pointed to a spot in the grass. "Looks like she was shot...twice."

"Did she had ID?" his voice wavered.

"Uh, yeah...I left it with the body," he walked to the ambulance where the body-bag was lying on a gurney. "I believe it said NCIS."

"No..." he shook his head, brushing past the man and pulling open the zipper. As he opened the flaps, he felt all the air leave his lungs. Ziva...a bullet wound to the forehead...and one in her chest.

"Sir, did you know this woman?"

"We've got more!" came a shout from somewhere in the house. "One in here!"

"Two in the sub-level!" another voice came, and Tony looked over to a hatch opening as someone came out, hauling one side of a gurney.

Tony was frozen in place, watching officers rush to assist in pulling the bodies from the hatch. One of them called for Director Vance to come over. That's when Tony moved; pushed his way through the crowd separating him from the two gurneys that the bodies were tethered to.

He overheard the paramedic as he spoke, "...too much shrapnel hit in too many vital places on the bodies. Probably died of smoke inhalation before the wounds could kill them, though..."

"No...nonono..." he was in tears now as he dropped between the two bodies that had been placed on the ground. Gibbs and McGee...blood and soot-covered faces, still recognizable to him. He couldn't breathe...

Yet, through the sorrow, rage burned in him. "Where's Berk?" he spoke loudly. When no one answered, he turned to Vance, who was now behind him, "Where's Berk!" he shouted as he stood.

"Not here," Vance told him. "We think the body in there is Micheals. Looks like Berk and Smith took off; the car is no longer here."

"I'll kill him...I'll KILL HIM!" he yelled, his chest constricting.

"Calm down, DiNozzo!" Vance grabbed his arms. Tony violently shrugged out of his grip.

"Tony!" another voice sounded behind him; one he recognized. He spun around. Gibbs' eyes were open, looking at him.

Tony dropped to his knees, "Boss?"

"Tony, you need to wake up," he told him. Tony furrowed his brow, shaking his head in confusion. "Wake up, Tony..." he repeated. "You're dreaming! Don't you see that?" his voice became louder, yet oddly disconnected from this reality...

"Come on, Tony, wake up," Tony felt strong arms on his shoulders, shaking him a little more than gently. "That's it, c'mon," Gibbs encouraged.

Tony opened his eyes, still feeling the burning ache, both physically and emotionally, from what he now realized was just a nightmare. "Boss?"

"Let me help you sit up," Gibbs told him, and Tony realized his awkward, twisted position, tangled in the covers. Gibbs helped him to sit up and back against the headboard, then handed him his inhaler.

Gibbs was half-tempted to hold the thing for him, as he felt the severe shaking in his senior field agent's body. Tony anxiously held the inhaler to his mouth, with both hands, taking two puffs.

"Whoa," Gibbs reached a hand out as the younger man began to slide to the side, and he moved to sit beside him against the headboard, and allowed him to slump against him, instead.

The device fell to the mattress as Tony released his medicine-laced breath; a shudder running through his body as he did so. Gibbs put an arm around his shoulders, and Tony curled himself into his side as he breathed through the remainder of the attack.

He closed his eyes as he tried to calm himself; to breathe normally. He didn't dare move. Not until he felt Gibbs' hand on his face; his thumb wiping the tears from his cheek. That's when he pulled away, embarrassed, and finished the job drying them himself. "I'm sorry, Boss..."

"Just quit, already, Tony," he replied, sternly but softly.

Tony shook his head, "I can't do this..."

"It'll get easier-"

"The nightmares," he clarified, still not meeting his eyes. "They're too real. Doesn't seem to matter how obvious it should be that that's not how things happened...It's still real, in my head, when it's happening. I feel everything. Everything happens like an ordinary day; logistics and everything, playing out like some alternate form of reality. I can read, feel the wind on my face...I can smell smoke and death..." his voice cracked. "I can't do it... It's too much. Can't keep losing you all..."

"Listen to me," Gibbs turned a bit to face him. "We'll figure out a way to make it stop. Even if it means you see a head doc, ya got it?" Tony hung his head. But Gibbs took his chin in his hand, "Hey," and Tony turned to look at him. "I'll be with you, every step of the way, if that's what you want." Tony searched the older man's eyes for a moment, then blinked a few times to ebb away any further threatening tears. "Okay?" Gibbs asked. Tony nodded, finally. "C'mere," Gibbs wrapped an arm back around his shoulders and pulled him back to his chest.

Tony didn't fight him...


	37. More to Humpty's Great Fall

Gibbs had stayed a majority of the remainder of the night in the guest room. Tony hadn't said another word, but had seemed to calm, considerably, with Gibbs' presence. He'd only meant to stay until the younger man drifted off to sleep. But he'd ended up falling asleep, himself, where he sat against the headboard.

It wasn't until his internal alarm clock woke him at 0500, that he realized that that had happened. He'd stealthily made his way out of the room, not wanting Tony to think that he'd stayed. The last thing he needed was to think that Gibbs thought he needed someone to stay with him.

So he made his way downstairs, started a pot of coffee, and while that was brewing, opted to take a shower and dress. He felt sluggish today. Not that it had anything to do with lack of sleep, or the fact that he'd been at an awkward position most of the night. He'd slept in stranger places. It was more likely to do with his being pushed into that damned basement.

It was a little after 0630 when Tony finally wandered downstairs. Gibbs was on the couch, leaning over an open case file on the coffee table, and well into his third cup of coffee. "Morning, Boss," he said, scratching the back of his head as he passed through the living room toward the kitchen. "Any more coffee?"

"Always," Gibbs told him. "Get anymore sleep?"

"Yeah, actually," he replied as he made his way to the cupboard to get a mug. "Thankfully, accompanied by uneventful dreams." Gibbs nodded, observing the younger agent as he poured his coffee and dumped an excessive amount of sugar and milk in. "Sorry about wakin' you up, by the way."

"No big deal," Gibbs told him. "Got back to sleep, afterward, anyway."

"Just the same," he replied as he entered the living room and sat down in the armchair. "You shouldn't have had to wake up to that."

"I think I was a little better of than you," he retorted, raising his brow. "You wanna talk about the dream?"

Tony gave him a surprised look, "You wanna hear it?"

"Someone should," he replied, picking up his cup. "Something's goin' on in that head of yours, and maybe you should talk about it instead of savin' it for when you're supposed to be resting."

"The nightmares, I can handle...usually," he said. "I've always had nightmares. It's the panic part that I'm not used to. And I'm pretty sure that just makes it all the worse, 'cause it starts in the dream; makes it harder to deal with."

"Which is why you should talk about it," Gibbs told him. "You need a better way to handle it, and if you can work it out before you go to bed, then maybe it won't be so intense."

"What're you, takin' classes with Ducky, now?" he smirked.

Gibbs returned the smirk, "Sometimes I listen to the droning. Don't change the subject."

Tony rolled his eyes, though the slight smile hadn't yet faded. He took a long drink from his coffee, hoping Gibbs would go back to whatever it was he was looking over. But the glare continued. He sighed, putting the mug down on the table.

"What you said to me, last night, about if I hadn't come with Berk to the cabin," he started, "Just like pretty much any case we get, my brain kinda decides to work out that scenario. And lucky me, I get a private viewing of the results, in high def, surround sound. That's what my dream was about."

Gibbs was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke, cocking his head, "You learn anything from that dream?"

Tony raised his brows, "You mean, other than the fact that I'd probably fall off the deep end if I ever lost you guys?" Gibbs continued the moderate glare, showing Tony that he did, indeed, mean something else. "Or the fact that...you were probably right? Which you usually are...so I should probably take your word for it. And I did, really," he told him. "'Cause if I hadn't, I don't think that dream would've seemed so real."

"You know that, with our jobs, it's part of the risk; getting killed."

"Yeah, I do, Boss. Of course I do. Doesn't mean I'll ever be prepared for it, and it doesn't mean I can't do my job or that I'm being controlled in some way by that possibility. But when I'm not working, when I'm alone to dwell on those thoughts, I'm haunted by them. I can't help it; I've never been able to."

"Maybe it's time to see someone about it, then."

"Boss..."

"Just because it's not affecting your work, doesn't mean you've got it under control."

"I've been seeing someone," he told him. Gibbs narrowed his eyes. He knew that Tony had accidentally let slip that he'd had a therapist. But he'd never openly admitted it to him. "It's not for that specific thing, but it's not like I don't know that I've got some issues."

"And this doesn't fit that bill?"

"Well, now it does, I guess..."

"Even if this...asthma thing is temporary," Gibbs waved an indicative hand, "That doesn't mean that you should let yourself suffer sleepless nights, just because no one ever sees that part of you."

"They're just gonna wanna write me a script for drugs, Boss."

"How do you know what they're gonna do, if you don't even tell them what's goin' on?" he asked. Tony's eyes darted a bit. "There's gotta be something, Tony. You can always refuse meds, but you can't ignore the problem and think it'll get better on its own. Hasn't, so far."

"Understatement," Tony huffed a laugh.

Gibbs couldn't help a small smile. "You can do this, DiNozzo," he told him. "Like everything else you put your mind to."

"Thanks, Boss," he looked down, a bit sheepishly.

Gibbs peered into his nearly empty cup, then decidedly got up to fetch more coffee. But upon standing, the pain flared in his head. Tony looked up when he heard the pained grunt, and saw Gibbs' hand press over the wound over his brow; his eyes skewed shut.

"Boss?" Tony stood. "You okay?"

"Yeah...headache," he said. Then his cup dropped from his hand, clunking to the floor. Tony watched on, in horror, as Gibbs suddenly collapsed; his body going rigid, and convulsing.

"Gibbs!" Tony rushed to him, turning him onto his side and held him tightly on his lap where he knelt on the floor...


	38. Waiting Rooms

Frantically, Tony looked around from where he knelt, holding Gibbs' convulsing body as best as he could manage. That's when he spotted Gibbs cell on the cushion of the couch. He reached for it, pulling it closer to the edge with his fingertips until he could grab hold of it.

He dialed 911 and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder so that he could resume supporting his boss. "This is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo with NCIS," he spoke when the dispatcher answered. "I need an ambulance, right now! I have an agent down!" his voice cracked as he spoke, and he gave them the address.

"Sir, I'm sending someone out to you, now. Can you tell me what happened?"

"He collapsed," he told her. "He's got a preexisting head injury; a concussion. But he just collapsed and started seizing..."

"Do you know how to handle a seizure-victim, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Yes," he spat.

"Okay. Can you tell me how long he's been seizing?"

"Um...it's been at least a minute, now. Maybe longer... Look, that's all I know. I've gotta go; gotta call his doctor," he ended the call, though the dispatcher seemed to protest. Then he dialed Ducky...

11 00 11 00 11

"Anthony, what ever is the matter?" Ducky asked once he heard the urgency in the younger man's voice.

"It's Gibbs, Ducky," he told him. "I called an ambulance..."

"What's happened?" Ducky asked as he moved from his desk, toward the coat rack.

"I dunno what's wrong with him," Tony was clearly upset, but had himself under control. "We were talking. He was fine. Then he stood and grabbed his head like he was in pain. Next thing, he's on the floor, seizing...It's been over two minutes, Ducky... Wait..." there was a pause and some shuffling on the other line as Ducky grabbed his coat and keys.

He turned to his assistant and whispered, "I have to run out, Jimmy; it's an emergency. I'll call you."

"Alright, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy looked concerned, though he wasn't certain what was going on.

"He stopped," Tony's voice sounded, finally, on the other line. "Ducky, it looks like the seizure stopped."

"Alright, my boy. I'm leaving, now. I'll meet you at the hospital. You'll ride with him, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Ducky," the call ended after that.

Ducky couldn't help but to worry for his friend. Chances were, Gibbs hadn't allowed the hospital to do a proper examination the previous day. No doubt he'd been anxious to make sure that his agents were out of serious danger, but now the decision not have made certain that he'd gotten properly looked over, seemed to have been a very big mistake, indeed...

11 00 11 00 11

Gibbs groaned in his exhausted state, trying to open his eyes and figure out why, exactly he was partly on the floor.

"Boss?" Tony's worried voice rang out somewhere above him, and Gibbs managed to open his eyes, momentarily.

"Wha' happened?" he asked, in almost a whisper.

"You had a seizure," Tony told him; his voice cracking.

That's when Gibbs realized that he was also partially on Tony's lap, being held in shaky arms. Gibbs picked his arm up and sought out Tony's, patting it with his hand, "I'm okay."

"No, I don't think you are," Tony retorted. "You didn't let them look at you, yesterday, did you?" it was more of a confirmation than a question. Gibbs let out a sigh, wishing he had the strength to get up, right then. "Well, you're gonna let them, today. Bus is on its way, and I'm going with you."

"Tony..."

"Don't, Gibbs. Just don't even... There could be something seriously wrong," he heard the sirens coming around the corner. He gently grabbed Gibbs' face when he tried to look away, stubbornly. "Hey...I'll be there with you, every step of the way," he gave him a small smile as he conveyed the returned message that Gibbs had given him, just the night before.

Gibbs considered him for a long moment. Then, resignedly, he released a long breath.

They heard the medics at the door...

11 00 11 00 11

Tony paced the ER waiting room floor. He did it fairly slowly, not wanting to set off another possible attack. But he couldn't sit still.

On the ride over in the ambulance, Gibbs had become severely lethargic. Of everything that'd happened that morning, for some reason, that had scared Tony the most. They'd been talking, in between questions from the medics, and he'd suddenly just...stopped. His eyes had grown distant.

Ducky had been here, waiting, by the time the bus arrived at Bethesda with the two agents. He was back there with them now, after insisting they do the appropriate scans. Now Tony was waiting... Waiting was the absolute worst. It was definitely not one of his strong-suits.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the phone in his pocket began to ring. As he fished it out, he realized that it was Gibbs' phone, and he should probably skip answering. But when he saw Abby's name on the screen, he felt compelled to accept the call.

"Hey, Abs," he said, as calmly as he could manage.

"Tony? I could've sworn I dialed Gibbs..."

"Yeah, I've got his phone."

"Well, can you put him on? I was just gonna see if it was okay if I came by."

"I...can't put him on, Abby," he told her; his voice shaking slightly.

"Why not? What's wrong? You sound like something's wrong...Tell me Gibbs is okay, Tony..."

"I can't..."

"Oh my god...Tony, talk to me!" the fear in her voice matched that of what Tony felt.

"H-he had a seizure," he told her. "We're at Bethesda. He's getting a CT or something..."

"I'm on my way, Tony," she told him, noting the shock in her friend's voice. "I've got McGee with me. We'll be there in like ten minutes, okay?"

"Yeah. 'Kay. I gotta go, Abs," he told her before ending the call, as he saw Ducky come through the ER doors. "How is he?" he asked, eagerly.

"They've found a brain hemorrhage," Ducky began. "They're taking him into surgery, now."


	39. Quiescence

Tony sat quietly at the table in the corner of the cafeteria with, Ducky, Tim and Abby. One of them had brought him a cup of coffee, but the closest he came to picking it up, was really just the pads of his fingers tapping along the side of it.

He stared at that mug and its contents, in contemplation of the morning's events. Gibbs had had one in his hand; dropped it before he'd collapsed to the ground before him. It had been terrifying, watching him convulse, and there was nothing he could do to help him.

Then, of course, was that moment in the ambulance...

"He was on his way to the kitchen to get more coffee," Tony explained to the EMT.

"How many cups did you have, Agent Gibbs?" the medic asked him.

"Two," Gibbs replied.

"Which means he's gonna be wanting more once we get to Bethesda," Tony said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"I'm afraid that's probably not a good idea, at this point," the medic replied.

"Well, that's not gonna fly with the boss," Tony said, catching Gibbs' eyes.

He had an amused smirk on his face, as well, "I'll have a talk with the nurse."

"Whom, I'm sure, Ducky will warn ahead of time," Tony replied.

"You..." Gibbs began, but then his face suddenly went slack.

Tony thought maybe he was upset he'd called anyone, "Boss, he's your primary. You know he'd be pissed if I didn't call him." He waited for Gibbs' retort. But his face remained slack and unresponsive. "Boss?"

"Agent Gibbs?" the medic tried to get a response from the older agent. He pulled out a penlight and shined it in Gibbs' eyes. "We need to get him in, now!" he shouted to the driver.

"What's going on?" Tony asked. "What's wrong with him...?"

Fear. That's what he'd felt. That, and panic. So, why hadn't he had an attack, like he'd had every other time since the poisoning? Even as Ducky had told him about the bleed in Gibbs' brain, he hadn't gotten another attack. What did that mean?

Tony wasn't sure, at all. He should be happy for that, at least. It meant, possibly, that he was getting better, or handling his emotion better... Or maybe the medicine was still working in his system. Who knew? So, why did he feel so damned guilty about it?

He had the sudden urge to vomit. Standing, abruptly, from the table, he headed for the restroom, ignoring the questioning looks from his friends.

The three left at the table exchanged looks of worry. Ducky moved to get up, but McGee put a hand on his shoulder, causing the older man to turn and look at him. "Let me, Ducky," he told him, then stood from the table and followed after Tony.

When he reached to door where the senior field agent had disappeared behind, he waited. He heard the heaving, even through the barrier between them. Tim chose to lean back against the wall beside the door and give him some privacy; at least until the heaving stopped and the toilet flushed.

As the water in the sink turned on, McGee made his move, quietly entering the room. Tony was splashing water on his face, leaning down almost into the sink, to avoid getting his clothes wet. Tim fetched a few paper towels and handed them to Tony as he picked his head up.

"You okay?" Tim asked.

"How long have you been here?"

"You mean in here?" he asked. Tony just glared at his reflection. "I was outside the door," he said, resignedly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Tony dried his face and wadded up the towels before tossing them.

"Then you're sick?"

Tony sighed, leaning forward on the sink. "What do you want, McGee?" he asked in a low voice.

"For you to talk to me." Tony gave him a skeptical look from his reflection. "Something's obviously bothering you."

"Gibbs is in surgery, McGee. Surgery on his brain which was apparently bleeding. What do you think is bothering me?" his gaze fell back to the sink. Tim stayed silent, knowing there was more to it, but not wanting to belittle the situation by saying so. "I just... Why didn't I..."

"Why didn't you what?" McGee asked, hopeful that he'd finally open up to him.

"When I was thrown into that basement with you," he continued, "After I'd seen Ziva shot, and knew what they were planning, I panicked. I had an attack... That didn't happen when Gibbs fell. Why?"

McGee wasn't sure he was actually asking him that question. But he mulled it over, anyway. "Maybe it's missing an important element," he decided.

Tony slowly turned to face him, "What are you talking about?"

"Well," he was suddenly nervous about his response, "In the basement, you seemed pretty convinced that Ziva was dead. And that they were gonna kill us all and there was nothing we could do to stop. There was an element of hopelessness. But with Gibbs, there was a way to help him; or to get him help. There was something you could do about it, and your instinct was to fight...instead of panic. You picked up the phone and got help, and you were there for him. Now, he's being helped. It's not a hopeless situation. Maybe...maybe that's the difference."

Tony's eyes darted somewhere between them as he thought. In his other attacks, there had been dreams of complete and total loss...with no hope. Maybe McGee was on to something.

"Or maybe you're getting better," Tim suggested.

Tony smirked a bit, "Ever McHopeful," he patted his arm. "I think you were right with the first guess." His smirk faded and his eyes settled on the floor.

"He's gonna be okay, Tony," Tim assured him.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked without looking up.

"'Cause he's Gibbs," he replied, simply, as if that was the dumbest question he'd ever heard.

Tony let out a small, breathy laugh, then looked up at him. He wanted to say something along the lines of, 'Oh wise, Probie-wan," but was afraid to, over the lump in his throat...


	40. Running the Show

Tony sat beside Gibbs' hospital bed in the loveseat-sized chair, Abby curled up into his side and sleeping. It was late; nearly closing visiting hours. But Tony refused to leave. There was also no way he could sleep, at this point.

Ducky had told them, earlier, in a way they could understand, what was wrong with Gibbs. Long story short, they'd fixed the hemorrhage, but he was comatose. Because of his age, the doctors were unsure of his recovery; if he'd ever wake up.

"But they don't know Leroy Jethro Gibbs, like we do, do they?" Ducky had told them. No, they didn't know him. Gibbs wouldn't let this beat him.

So why was Tony still so afraid? Maybe because no matter how much any of them might think Gibbs was Superman, he was still just a man. Maybe this was that one-hit-to-the-head-too-many.

What if the doctors were right? What if the hope of the team, their faith in Gibbs' ability to recover, wasn't enough? What if he wasn't going to wake up...?

Tony felt the familiar tightening begin in his chest. "Ah...I was wondering when you'd show up," he thought as he pulled out his inhaler. God bless McGee for bringing it to him earlier, when he'd come to take Ziva back to her apartment. He calmly disentangled himself from Abby, without waking her, and walked into the bathroom before using the device. As he held the medicine in, he leaned over the sink, closing his eyes and counting.

"Are you alright, Anthony?" Ducky's whispered voice sounded behind him

His eyes snapped open and he let out his breath, nodding. Turning on the cold water, he cupped some into his hand and rinsed his mouth. "Thought you went home," he said as he reached for a paper towel to dry his mouth.

"I came to give Abigail a ride home," he informed him. "Timothy took her car, when transporting Ziva back to her apartment."

"Oh yeah. Forgot they rode in together," he turned to face the M.E. "Should he be driving?" he was suddenly a bit concerned. "I mean, he had a concussion, too..."

"Unlike Jethro, Tim was checked out, as he should have been. That, and an appropriate amount of time has passed. He's alright to drive, I assure you. But I can see why you'd be concerned," he placed a hand on his arm. "Are you really alright?"

Tony almost imperceptibly flinched at the question. He looked at the doctor for a few moments before his gaze shifted. "Before he collapsed," he started, "We were talking about me speaking to my therapist about these attacks I keep getting."

Ducky tilted his chin up a bit, "Were you, now? How did that come about?"

"I uh...had another nightmare," he admitted. "And he woke me out of it; gave me my inhaler. We ended up talking about it the next morning."

"And you agree with the suggestion?"

"Seems to make sense, I guess," he replied. "It can't hurt to try, right?" he gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Then he looked away.

"What is it, lad?" the older man sensed something was wrong.

"Nothing," he shook his head.

Ducky wanted to question that, but decided not to push. "So, will you be making an appointment, then?"

Tony met his eyes again. "I need to be here."

"Do you?"

"I told him I'd be here for him," he said in a low voice.

"For how long do you plan to sit at his bedside, Anthony? He could be here a long while, as you well know."  
"He stayed with me when I was stuck here..."

"Even Jethro knew he needed to continue on with life outside of this place, when you were asleep," Ducky reminded him. "Yes, he was here every day. But he did work; he did take care of himself. And he did that for you, as well."

Tony was silent for a long moment as he let the words absorb. Ducky watched as the younger man's eyes became slightly reddened and glistening, and he became concerned. Then Tony spoke, "But he knew I was gonna be okay."

Ducky took the small step forward that closed the distance between them, looking him in the eye, "Jethro will pull through this, Tony. There is no doubt in my mind, and there shouldn't be any in yours, either." As a man very well into his medical career, Ducky knew never to give such guarantees about patients, even when it seemed likely that they would be okay. But in this case, he was most certain that his personal opinion, whether it be his own denial or not, needed to be reiterated to the younger man before him. Tony needed hope, and Gibbs wasn't the only one that could use his gut when it was important.

Tony knew these things, as well. But the simple fact that Ducky placed so much faith in his convictions, made him feel a little better about the odds...

11 00 11 00 11

One Week Later...

Tony stared down at the four cards in his hand that his therapist had given him the day before last. They were supposed to help him to stop his panic attack before it got out of control. Of course, he'd not had the need to use them just yet, and he'd had high doubts that they would work at all.

He remembered talking about how most of the attacks started in his sleep; that he was well into respiratory distress by the time he woke up. Stopping those, would be near impossible. The therapist told him that once he'd memorized the cards and used them successfully during waking attacks, he'd be able to think to use them in dreams.

Tonight, however, his panic didn't come from a dream; but from the anticipation of the nightmares he'd most likely have once he'd gone to sleep. How ridiculous was that? Very, he'd decided.

Ridiculous enough, that he'd thought to pull out the cards. If they'd work for anything, it'd have to be this.

So, there he was, sitting on the floor with his back up against the bed, with four little note

cards in his hands. The first step: Relax. Yeah, sure. No problem. Thanks for that... Relax by taking slow, deep breaths. Calm yourself by remembering that you are only having a panic attack and that nothing more serious is happening to you. Okay. Well, that's true, at the moment, I suppose. Slow, deep and complete breaths with help to relax the body, which is the first step to reversing the adrenaline release.

Tony recalled how the therapist told him the mechanics of a panic attack, and how the adrenaline overload was the main cause for triggering the asthma attacks. He did his best to follow the step, breathing deeply and slowly...

Step two: Stop negative thoughts. Shout the word "STOP!" Yeah, the neighbors will just love that. Really loud, in your head. Oh, right...in my head. I can do that...Wait, why am I doing that? By shouting the word "stop", you're interrupting the emergency message your brain is sending to your adrenal glands. Often, people having a panic attack are stuck in an endless loop of replaying catastrophic events in their head. Interrupting this loop gives you the opportunity to replace the scary message with a calming one.

Okay. I can do that... "Stop!" he shouted in his head. "Nothing bad is happening. Nothing bad is going to happen..." Well, no...I can't really say that for sure, now, can I? It's possible I could have nightmares... Wait wait wait... "Stop!" he mentally shouted again. "You're fine! Stop freaking out over things that haven't even happened yet!" He did this all while continuing to breath deeply.

Step three: Use coping statements. Oh for the love of... A coping statement is a positive statement that is at least as strong as the catastrophic statement that you have been scaring yourself with. Replace the negative statement with a positive one. Choose a statement that addresses the negative thought. How the hell am I supposed to think through this kind of thing, if it's ever an really big emergency? Oh look! Examples... For example, "I'm having a heart attack! I'm gonna die!" Replace this with, "I'm only having a panic attack and it'll be over in three minutes if I relax," or, "My fear is making my heart pound harder. My heart is fine."

Well, I know I'm not having a heart attack. That's not what I'm afraid of. Maybe... "They're only dreams. They're not real and they can't hurt me or my friends..." Huh...I guess that's not as hard as I thought. Brainstorm the kinds of fearful thoughts that bring on panic for you, and make a long list of coping statements that you can look at when you need, rather than trying to think of one in the middle of an attack. Oh, well, I guess that makes sense, then...

Step four: Accept your feelings. What? Accept that I easily wig out over things that aren't even happening? Validate that feeling and the reasoning behind it. I'm freaking terrified...because my friends...these people I consider closer than family, could be hurt or killed. It's possible, every single day. We know that, as agents. We accept it. I've accepted that and I've watched agents die. I know that I put my own life on the line, and sure, all of these things have always scared me, to an extent. It has happened. I was there when Kate was shot. I felt her blood on my face.

I know what it felt like when Ducky was kidnapped; when we could've lost him, had we been any later. I know how scary it was when Abby had been held at gunpoint by McGee's crazy Gemcity-fan, and when she'd been taken by that fake government employee...or when 'Chip' turned out to be the nut-job that framed me for murder, and was about to kill Abby for figuring it out and ruining everything for him.

I'm aware of how completely horrific it was to watch the explosion in on the ship where Gibbs had been; knowing he'd been in that room and probably shouldn't have survived. I know how unsettling it was to see him in a coma no one knew he'd come out of... Heh...guess I should learn from my past fears on that one.

Point is, yeah, my feelings are validated. I have a right to be afraid. I should be.

Fear is a positive emotion that reminds you to take care of yourself. Listen to your feelings, take good care of yourself, and keep your emotions in proportion to the situation by keeping an appropriate perspective.

Yeah, okay. Well that's kinda the point, isn't it? I mean, clearly, that's what I'd like to happen. That's what I'm trying to accomplish here; not freaking out about things like going to sleep and dreaming. I mean for crying out loud; here I am, breathing like...wait.

I'm breathing just fine. When did that happen? My heart's beating like normal and my chest doesn't feel tight. Did I just bore myself out of the attack? Or did this...actually help?


	41. Don't Make Me a Liar

Yet another week later, Tony found himself sinking down into the chair beside Gibbs' hospital bed. He did this every day after work; every morning he didn't have to be at NCIS. Today was one of the later evenings, after having been at work longer than probably necessary. He'd stopped home to shower, first. Not that he'd gone out and gotten dirty or anything...

"Hey, Boss," Tony said, quietly, as he scooted the chair a bit closer to the bed. "Everyone seems to be better, now. Except you, of course. Ziva's back to her old self," he told him, as if they were in a casual conversation. This is how each visit went. Tony would tell him about their day, then sit in silence, hoping for a response.

"McGee's been running with me this past week or so," he continued. "I'm up to a mile, now. One out and one back, so technically that's two. That's twice what I was doin' a few weeks ago," he smiled, proudly. "That technique I told you about last week...I did it twice more, now. Seems to really be working. That, or I'm better. I'm not sure. But I'm not takin' any chances," he smiled again with a breathy laugh. But it quickly disappeared.

"I wish you'd wake up, Boss," he told him in an even quieter voice. "We miss you...I miss you. It's not the same without you, at work. Not that things were all that normal before this happened... And it's not like we've been without you before. But this...well, it's just different, ya know? With me not having been cleared yet for field duty, McGee and Ziva are always out with other teams. I've spent so much time in the morgue, I could probably assist in an autopsy now," he let out a small laugh. "Not that I'm thinkin' about makin' a career change or anything. Hell, I've spent so much time with Abs, Vance walked into the lab the other day while I was helping her run through several databases, and now he's got me assigned to assist her while Tim and Zi are workin' with Daniel's team. Now...I love Abby, don't get me wrong. But once she's got the first five Caf-Pow's of the day in her, and you've gotta be down there longer than five minutes, you start to question the very nature of life, and why we exist."

He leaned back in the chair, "Not that she makes me wanna end my life, persay. But I come pretty fairly close to wondering whether or not she does it on purpose; like it's ingrained in her to drive her assistants mad. She knows I'm only there for a few days, but I think she honestly can't help herself. I'm thinking about slowly weaning her off that stuff. There's no way it could be good for her. 'Course, you and Abs and your caffeine...I'd be dead and disposed of without a single trace, if I ever even tried."

Tony rubbed his temples with his fingertips. He was getting a headache from, what he suspected, was the sound of his own voice. "You just give me a mental-headslap, Boss?" he smirked. "Guess I'll shut up for a bit," he glanced over at the loveseat-sized chair up against the wall, beneath the window.

As he moved to go to it and sink down in to the slightly more comfortable seating, he yawned. "Guess it was a long day," he said as he shifted to lay on his side, letting his head settle on the armrest. "You don't mind if I shut my eyes for a little bit, do ya, Boss? It'll help with my whole 'shutting-up' plan..." He looked over at the still form in the hospital, waiting for some kind of response, like he always did. Then he closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep faster than possibly ever before...

Ducky had been waiting just outside the door out of sight, for a while now. He wanted Tony to have his time with Gibbs, and he found it genuinely easier to hear what was on Tony's mind when he was...well, eavesdropping, as it was.

Tony hadn't been one for sharing, in the past couple of weeks. Ducky suspected it had more to do with being strong for his remaining team; leading them the best he could from he limited place behind a desk. He'd been supportive of them during their recoveries, and held them together, as he always did, during this time of uncertainty.

Before Tim and Ziva had been assigned to assist another team, Tony had led them successfully through three cold cases, with very little outside help from anyone besides Abby and Ducky. Really, the cold cases were Tony's way of occupying his mind, where being an info-lackey wasn't quite cutting it. They'd gotten lucky for a little over a week, not having any major crimes happen. But now they were working with another team on a murder case, and Tony wasn't running the show.

Working with Abigail had kept the agent busy, though possibly in a more stressful way than the cold cases had. They'd made great progress, but Ducky could tell it was wearing the younger man down. He missed being in the field. He missed their team leader even more. Tony's sleeping form was a tribute to that mental exhaustion.

Ducky entered Gibbs' room when he heard the soft snoring from Gibbs' second in command. Tony looked a bit uncomfortable on the small couch, but he was, most definitely, deeply asleep. Ducky smiled softly to himself. At least the lad was getting some rest; something he'd been questioning these past weeks.

He turned to Gibbs and approached the bed, placing a gentle hand on the man's forearm. "Dearest Jethro," he all but whispered, "I do wish you'd wake up and prove me not a liar." He patted his arm and moved around the bed to sit in the chair Tony had previously occupied.

"Liar 'bout what, Duck?" a raspy voice sounded from the bed.

"Well, about you making it through this, of co-" Ducky came to the sudden realization that Gibbs was actually speaking. His eyes shot to the man's face as Gibbs cracked open his eyes. "Jethro..." he shot up from the chair, momentarily speechless.

"You act like it's been a while since ya saw me last," Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

Ducky put a hand on the younger man's cheek and gave him a happy grin as his eyes became a bit wet. "Well," he finally spoke, "It's been long enough, my friend."

Gibbs' hand came up and weakly grasped Ducky's wrist, "What happened? Why'm I here?"

Ducky's hand fell to his shoulder as he used his other hand to press a button to raise the head of the bed some. "Your reluctance to have your concussion further diagnosed, caused a small bleed to be missed," he explained. "You hemorrhaged, and you've been unconscious for two weeks."

Gibbs looked, absentmindedly, at the older man's chest, in thought. "I was home, talkin' to DiNozzo..."

"And you had a seizure," Ducky told him. "You're lucky he was there to call for an ambulance. There's no telling what the outcome could've been, had you been alone. I fear, the worst, actually."

"Is he okay?" Gibbs' brow furrowed.

"He is as expected," Ducky moved a bit out of the way so that Gibbs could see Tony sleeping on the small couch. "He's been here every day, Jethro. And he's been doing very well at work, keeping everyone together."

Gibbs nodded, proud of his agent. Then Ducky moved his arm from Gibbs' shoulder, accidentally knocking off one of the leads, and sending the alarm off on the machine next to them. "Oh dear," Ducky exclaimed. "Perhaps I should inform the nurses that you're awake, anyway," he walked around the bed to find the missing lead...

*~.~*

Tony sprung up from his tangled position in the loveseat-sized chair, at the sound of the alarms. He jumped up from the seat when he realized they were coming from beside Gibbs' bed, and saw that the older man looked pale and was turning a bit blue. He rushed to the bedside and began calling out for someone to help.

Tony's fingers sought out for a pulse on his boss's neck and wrist...he could find nothing...

"Please, Boss, don't do this...Please, don't go!" and suddenly he was being pulled away and there were faceless nurses and doctors surrounding the bed, hiding Gibbs from his sight.

The familiar tightening began in his chest...

*~.~*

The nurse reattached the lead on Gibbs and headed out to page the doctor. Ducky had followed her out, and that's when Gibbs noticed Tony's discomfort on the chair across the room. He'd seen it enough to know that the younger man was in the throes of a nightmare.

Carefully, he swung his legs off the side of the bed, testing his own strength as he scooted off of it to stand. Grabbing the IV pole, he made his way to the chair and sat down on the edge of it. "Tony," he placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a bit before shaking him, lightly. He could hear the erratic breathing, and it caused him to be more desperate to wake him. He shook him harder, "Tony, wake up!"

Tony shot up to a sitting position, eyes wide open, now. His mind seemed to register whom he was looking at, but he turned and placed his feet on the floor, holding a finger up, indicating for Gibbs to give him a moment.

Gibbs watched as Tony seemed to purposefully begin bringing his breathing back under control. With a hand placed supportively on Tony's back, Gibbs remained patient as well as feeling the pounding heart beat also begin to return to normal. After a minute or so, Tony straightened and turned to face Gibbs again. He blinked a few times, as if questioning what he was seeing.

"You're really awake?" he asked, reaching out to touch his shoulder, as if to verify.

"Well, I haven't had coffee in at least three hundred thirty six hours. I'm about as awake as I can be, without that..." he smirked.

Tony swallowed, then leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Gibbs' torso and burying his relieved face in his shoulder. "I should never have doubted your Superman status, Boss," he mumbled.

Gibbs let out a small laugh as he lightly returned the hug. "You smell like my basement," he commented.

"Been spending some time down there," he replied. "It misses you. So did your bourbon. But I kept them both company," he pulled away and met his boss's eyes, for which he was glad to see amusement instead of any hint of aggravation. "You're just lucky there wasn't a boat for me to muck up," he smirked.

Gibbs smiled widely at that and ruffed Tony's hair. "Glad to see you kept everything together while I was out."

"It was a pretty big job, Boss," he admitted. "I'm glad to have you back...don't think I could've kept it up much longer. Bourbon headaches..."

Gibbs shook his head, rolling his eyes, slightly...


	42. That Falling Feeling

Gibbs carved into the wood with his chisel, carefully, creating a smooth, circular design that he'd envisioned in his head. He'd started this project a few days ago, after having come home from the hospital. It was something he'd been thinking about doing for a while now, and with nothing else on his to-do list as far as wood-work went, he had started up on it.

The first day he'd come down to the basement upon his return, he was surprised to see that Tony had cleaned up a bit. Not that it was unkempt when he'd left, but he hadn't swept in a while, and some of his tools had been left out. Even the bourbon didn't seem much emptier than when he'd left it, though he could tell a few small glasses had been poured.

What really surprised him, however, was the new plank of wood that had been waiting for him on his work table. It was exactly what he'd had in mind for his project. Apparently, he'd said something about it during one of their many dinners with his senior field agent. The younger man had taken it upon himself to make sure he had it, and had done so while Gibbs had been unconscious still. It made the lead agent happy that DiNozzo had had so much faith in his recovery. Or, perhaps, wishful thinking. Either way, he wasn't complaining.

Gibbs could hear several sets of footsteps moving about upstairs, but it didn't distract him from his work. It wasn't until he heard a set coming down the steps, that he looked up.

"Hey, Boss," Tony grinned. "Gang's all here, if you're ready," he said, leaning back against the wall once he reached the bottom.

"Just lemme finish this one part," Gibbs insisted. "Won't take but a minute."

Tony pushed away from the wall and made his way over to see what he was doing to the wood. "It's kind of amazing how much you've gotten done," he commented.

"Had lots of time on my hands, bein' outta work this week," Gibbs said, raising his brows but not looking up from his work.

Tony ran his fingers over the carved wood, "This is gonna look great as the new mantle."

Gibbs looked up, then, "You're in my light, DiNozzo."

"Sorry, Boss," he stepped back.

"Thanks."

Tony wasn't sure whether he was thanking him for moving, or for the compliment. "So uh...you never said why you wanted to make a new one," he spoke. "The one up there, now, seems nice."

"Holes in it," Gibbs said, finishing the small curve he was working on. He set the chisel down and removed his goggles.

"I didn't notice," Tony replied.

"So, what's for dinner?" Gibbs changed the subject.

Subject change successful as Tony's eyes lit up and they moved across the room toward the stairs, "Not sure! Ziva made some stuff. Smells good, whatever it is," he told him as he stood slightly behind Gibbs as they climbed the stairs. It wasn't the walking that Gibbs was having trouble with. But since the recovery, he'd been having some issues with coordinating his way up and down stairs. His feet didn't want to follow directions, or so it seemed. They'd found out the hard way, that first evening home...

Gibbs was upstairs in the master bathroom, getting dressed after a much-coveted shower he'd longed for once leaving the hospital. He heard a knock on the front door on the main level and heard Tony open it and greet, who he assumed was, the pizza delivery person.

He sped up the pace of dressing. The thought of pizza drove him over the edge of hunger, suddenly. After spending all that time eating nothing but hospital food, he was really looking forward to this. It must've been how Tony felt, he'd thought, pretty much any time a pizza showed up. Ever.

Gibbs finished dressing and headed out of the room toward the stairs. He could smell the pizza now.

"Dinner's here, Boss!" Tony yelled from the kitchen. Gibbs could hear plates being pulled from the cabinet as he began to descend the steps.

But something suddenly caused him to feel the need to look down at his feet. He'd been walking up and down stairs since he could walk at all; seemed like a fair amount of practice and something he shouldn't have to really think twice about. But here he was, looking at his feet as if they didn't belong to his body, and didn't have any connection to his brain waves.

As much as he attempted to correct his footing, he watched as he tripped over his own foot. The familiar feeling of falling to his doom, suddenly flooded back to him as he grabbed out for the railing. All that seemed to do, though, was redirect the angle in which his body tumbled. Which, in the long run, was a good thing...

With a grunt, Gibbs' body twisted and plummeted down from the halfway point in the staircase, to the unforgiving floor at the bottom.

"Oh my god...Boss!" Tony tore across the room so fast, Gibbs was afraid he'd hurt himself.

"'M okay, DiNozzo," Gibbs grunted.

"You just fell down the stairs!" Tony was kneeling beside him now; hands roaming over the older agent, checking him for injuries. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. Hit my shoulder on the rail; my ass a couple times on the way down..." he assured him. But Tony continued to search him over, and Gibbs then felt the slight trembling in the younger agent's hands. He grabbed Tony's wrist, "I'm okay, Tony." Tony's eyes met his. "Didn't hit my head. Now, help me up. I'm hungry and that pizza smells damned good..."


	43. Walking Home

"Dinner was great, Ziver," Gibbs told her as they cleared the table. "Thanks."

"It was my pleasure, Gibbs," she gave him a smile as she grabbed his empty plate.

"Ah, yes, I agree," Ducky chimed in as he assisted her. "Perhaps the one perk of one of you being mauled or maimed in some fashion... We all get to enjoy a good home-cooked meal of some sort," he snickered.

"I didn't get a home-cooked meal when I was attacked my Jethro," McGee objected from his place at the sink, where he dried the dishes passed to him by Tony and Abby, who were washing.

"Aw, Timmy," Abby cooed, "Don't worry! We'll do a make-up dinner for you."

"Yeah, Timmy," Tony said in a slightly mocking voice. "I'll even bring the cheese to go with your whine."

"Ha ha, Tony," McGee rolled his eyes as he placed a dried plate on the counter.

"Enough bickering," Ziva snapped, though lightly. "This dinner was for all of us. We were all injured during the last case we worked together, if I need to remind you. Well, except for Abby and Ducky, of course...but they were here for support, isn't that right?" she looked between the too aforementioned.

"Precisely," Ducky replied. "And everyone is well on the mend. Anthony is nearly ready to return to field-duty. Jethro, I assume, is almost well enough to return to desk work..." he looked to his friend for confirmation.

Gibbs simply shrugged.

"I was thinkin' about takin' him on a run with me later on, actually," Tony said, turning away from the sink and drying his hands. "You up for that, Boss?" Gibbs cocked his head in consideration. "I know you still have me beat, Boss... Or maybe we're synced up now," he challenged.

"Maybe," Gibbs smirked.

"I've never known Leroy Jethro Gibbs to lie down so quickly..." Tony raised his brows. By now, everyone's attention was on the conversation, though the played well enough to pretend they weren't listening.

"Who says I laid down?"

"No one said that, Boss!" Tony defended, putting his hands up.

"I am fairly certain that you said that, Tony," Ziva chimed in.

"I said I never knew him to!"

"What do I get, when I win?" Gibbs asked.

Tony shot his gaze back to his boss, "It's not a competition!"

"Sounded like you said something about a challenge, Tony," McGee said.

"You guys make lousy eavesdroppers," Tony sneered.

"Aw, c'mon, Tony!" Abby hopped as she turned to face him. "What are the prizes? If there's no prizes, I call dibs on making up the winnings!"

"If I win," Tony decidedly made up something, before Abby had the chance to make things extremely uncomfortable for all of them, "I get a 'get-out-of-head-slap-free' card."

"Oo! I can make the card!" Abby bounced excitedly.

"Sounds like ya think DiNozzo's gonna win," Gibbs raised his brows at her.

She froze in place, widening her eyes, "That's...that's not what I meant, at all, Gibbs! Honest! I just meant-"

"If I win," Gibbs interrupted and looked back at Tony, "You stay on desk-duty another week, no matter what the doc says."

Tony gave him an incredulous look, "That's not fair, Boss!"

"Sounds like ya think you'll lose, DiNozzo," Gibbs gave an amused look.

"I...you..." Tony stuttered as the thoughts ran through his head with a mixture of slight regret and mild embarrassment at the notion. "Fine! You're on," he conceded. "But I'm not holding back..."

"Were you thinkin' you'd need to let me win, before?" Gibbs couldn't hold back a smirk.

Tony grinned, then. "You talk a big game, Boss. Hope you've got your runnin' shoes."

11 00 11 00 11

"Was it your plan to wear me out by makin' me go upstairs to get your shoes?" Tony quirked a brow as they continued their pace down the street.

"You're not thinkin' of quitting already, are ya?" Gibbs smirked.

"That's not what I said," he let out a small laugh. "I asked if it was your plan...because it was a crappy plan, if that's what it was."

Gibbs let out a laugh of his own, "That wasn't my plan." I needed you to go up in case I couldn't...

"Alright. Well, we're a mile in. Wanna turn around, or keep goin'?"

"If you wanna turn around, feel free."

"That's not what I asked! Stop twisting my words!" he mocked aggravation. Gibbs smiled as they continued on. A few minutes later, he spoke again, "You realize we have to eventually get ourselves back to the house, right?"

"Ya told me, last week, that you an' McGee were runnin' a mile out and a mile back in. We've breached that, now. You need to turn back, just say it, Tony. I won't give ya hell about it."

"I'm not doing another week of desk-duty," Tony retorted. "I don't care if this ends with me vomiting all over my shoes; I'm not letting you win."

"No one's letting anyone win."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I know," he smirked...

*~.~*

When they hit the two and a half mile mark and mutually decided to turn around, keeping their same pace. Somewhere about a mile and a half of the way back, they were both sweating and out of breath to the point that their pace had equally slowed, and they were bumping into each other as they swerved from the straight path they'd managed to maintain up to this point.

"Quit getting...into my line, DiNozzo."

"I'm not...in your space... You're drifting...into mine..."

"I'm not drifting... You...are drifting."

"I think maybe...we're both...drifting a bit..."

"You need a break?"

"...No. Do you?"

"No..."

Another minute had them smacking into each other again, and Tony almost spilled over onto the sidewalk.

"I think...you need a break," Gibbs told him.

"No...you almost...knocked me down. Clearly...it's you...who needs a break...Boss..."

"You're wheezing..." Gibbs told him. "You need a break."

"I'm not...wheezing..." he coughed. "Just out of...breath...like you."

"You wanna...call a draw?"

"You forfeiting?" Tony's voice got a little higher.

"No. Just offering...a draw. Think we...both could use a...breather."

"You tryin' to...trick me into...losin'?"

"Wouldn't do that."

"Not so sure..."

"I'm not...tryin' to damn...trick you, DiNozzo."

"What's the draw mean...for the bet? We both...have to do our losses?"

"We both do nothin'... Bet's off if we draw."

"You promise?"

"Don't need to promise... I said it. I don't say things...I don't mean."

"Fine... I'll hold you to that... So...when we stoppin'?"

"Whenever you're ready..."

"Okay... ready? Three...two...one...now." They both slowed to a stop, bending over and resting their hands on their knees as they breathed. It was a couple of minutes before he spoke again, "I'd sit down, if I thought I'd be able to get back up ever again."

"There's a bench up ahead," Gibbs suggested.

Tony straightened and looked ahead a ways, locating what his boss had mentioned. "Carry me there?"

Gibbs let out a small laugh, "C'mon, Tony," he said as they started towards it. "We can walk there."

"Yeah, yeah..." he followed Gibbs toward the bench. "What do you think the odds are that there will be a long-distance chase on foot, in the near future?"

Gibbs shrugged as they moved to sit down. "Probably as much odds as needing to use stairs," he glanced at the younger agent.

"You haven't fallen since that first time."

"Only fell the first time because I wasn't prepared."

"Which means you probably won't have a problem."

"Just means I won't fall. I'm still a bit uneasy about it," Gibbs admitted.

Tony was surprised by the confession, and looked at him with the feeling. "Seein' as that's the only thing that's been affected, I'd say you're doin' pretty damn well, Boss," he told him. "And you've always overcome. I know you don't need a pep-talk, but seriously..."

Gibbs turned to him with raised brows, "And you just ran twice as far as you have since your bout with botulism poisoning. I'd say we're both well on our way to getting back."

Tony's lips turned up a bit at the corners. "Speaking of getting back...we've got another mile to go before we get back to your house. I, personally, vote for sleeping right here, on this bench, tonight."  
"Yeah, well," Gibbs grunted as he stood, "You enjoy your bench, DiNozzo. I'm walkin' home."

"I was kidding!"


End file.
